Compassion
by Neocolai
Summary: Because no wizard can leap up and start flinging spells after being electrocuted. And Credence has a heart. (Genfic)
1. Wounded

For the first time in his life, Credence was in control.

Since he first felt the sting of a belt on his palm he had craved this. A chance to hit back. To sting everyone who hurt him. To say _'Stop!_ ' and make people listen.

He was too scared before. Mother seemed so terrible, crushing him with her disappointment and loathing until he wanted his magic to bleed into the floor, that one day he must have decided it hurt less to cower. He remembered hovering on the fringe of her anger, hoping that he did good enough, that she would be satisfied, that he would be lashed again.

Bitter fury was difficult to swallow. He managed for years, telling himself that it was easier this way; that Modesty did as she was told so he should be deferential too; that he didn't really want to hurt anybody; and that witchery was bad and he must be a horrendous creature if there was magic inside of him.

He believed himself.

Until Mother started handing out posters in force. All of a sudden the _normal folk_ who patted him on the head and thought he was a poor, neglected creature began to mimic her jeers.

Freak. Mindless. Lunatic. Pathetic.

Credence thought that would all end the day Graves offered him kindness. The wizard held him close like the father Credence imagined. Graves claimed he was special.

If _special_ meant that no one cared and people still laughed behind your back, then Credence was done. He was sick of hope.

The "normal world" was beyond his reach, and he wouldn't be controlled any longer.

Not even by himself.

After killing Mother, destruction became so _easy_. Modesty was safe. Only the façade of caring people barred his way.

And how extraordinary it was to see them scurry and hide.

Credence was in control, and those cruel mockers who slapped him and spit at him every day – they were the ones who were afraid.

It was a glorious feeling.

He wanted more.

He could have killed them all.

One man made him stop.

The soft-spoken, twiggy man wasn't like the rest. He didn't pressure Credence with comforting lies, like Graves in the night. He didn't threaten. He put down his wand and asked to come closer.

He _put down his wand._

No one ever came near Credence without a weapon. A belt, a rock, a cuffing fist –

The wizard put down the only thing that could save his life.

Credence was almost ready to speak, to chance that maybe … maybe there was kindness.

" _Can I come over there?"_

Words Credence had never heard. A request – to be near the _freak_. For a moment fear lanced through him. If this was hope… if it betrayed him again….

He dared a peek. Compared to Graves' intimidating stature _("I thought you were my friend!")_ this wizard was mousey. Modesty was small, but she was more resilient than the cast iron pan Mother threw into the fire on claims of "bewitchery". This man looked more like a kitten that had been sopped in a puddle, kicked across the road, and then deposited in an ash heap when it failed to die.

Mother had drowned an entire litter of newborns. Their black fur testified evil. Like the darkness in Credence; a black tide that murdered.

But he still remembered one kitten that had survived. Mewling pitifully, crawling to safety.

Mother had crushed it.

Credence thought of Graves and his hypnotic lies, and he knew that this wizard would be quashed. He was small and dangerous. No one would let him survive.

But Mother was dead now. Credence could make a choice.

And for that, he thought he might risk it. One more chance. He would believe in hope.

Then blue light slammed into the quiet man's chest and Graves tore away providence.

Credence didn't think after that. He did what he trained his body to do. Shut down. Hide away. Don't give them reason to hurt you further. Be pathetic.

Unseen magic plucked him from the tracks and flung him aside. He didn't cry out. Couldn't. _It'll be over soon. Just give in. He'll stop._

A swath of blue redirected the next cruel spell. Bewilderment jolted Credence out of his daze and he regained his feet, staring at the mousey little man who ricocheted Graves' spells with uncoordinated, reckless desperation.

 _You can't fight him._ The words couldn't form, though Credence concentrated with all his dwindling might. _Can't you see? He's bigger than you. Stronger. You'll run. You'll realize you're bested and you'll move aside because you're not his real target._

He knew it would happen. Only Modesty had ever tried to save him from a beating.

Modesty and one other… and Credence had never seen her again.

 _You'll move. You'll let me die._ Anguish twisted inside and Credence couldn't breathe. Couldn't cry. Couldn't draw enough rage to lash against Graves. His thoughts were a slurred puddle in a rain barrel, drowning him in despair.

He would be left alone again. Nobody cared.

Yet the blue wizard continued to stand between him and Graves.

Credence stumbled, gasping in short pants. _Why are you still here? Why won't you run?_

The wizard's parries were clumsier now. Frantic. He was being pressed back, too slow to retaliate against Graves' precise strokes.

Credence thought he could predict when the wizard would miss that one spell. Five strokes. Maybe six.

But once again Graves crippled his extrapolation.

Screeching, the subway tracks reared and snapped. Like a whip across a horse's nape they hurled the mouse to his back. A sharp cry. A jolt of electricity that must have stolen the wizard's breath. Instinct claimed precedence, and Credence scurried as Graves descended.

He huddled in the corner, blocking his ears against the crackling volts. Grunts of pain that would have been screams it not for constricted lungs. Thrashing that was constrained, pinned under spell after relentless spell. There was neither the voice of gloating, nor that of pain. It was horribly, surreally silent.

 _No, stop, please stop!_ Credence tried to form the words, and once again he failed. Babbled. Cried for the stupid, bumbling man who wouldn't move out of the way when he was so clearly outmatched.

The grunts became more constricted; fainter.

 _It's not right! It's not right! She always blamed me – it's always been me – don't touch him, it's not his fault!_

Pain compounded into helplessness, honing the instinct to hide away. Soft whimpers of agony gouged Credence with an emotion he couldn't understand.

It wasn't control. He wasn't _in_ control. This was something louder. Red and angry and disgusted at the same time, all compelled into three forceful words.

 _It's not right!_

 _It's not right!_

 _ **It's not right!**_

 _LET HIM GO!_

Howling, Credence released himself into the thrall. Control burst inside of him and he roared in triumph. In exhilaration. Domination. Scarlet fire dissolved into black ash flickering with hate.

He soared on winds of power, looming above a snake of a man who had suddenly lost the courage to taunt.

Graves was a serpent toying with a mouse. It was the way life was meant to play out.

Like the sodden kitten crushed under his mother's boot.

Yet Credence's mind continued to force the word **"** _ **No!"**_ until the ceiling shook and the outcry crescendoed into a torrent of slaying ash.

He saw panic leap into Graves' eyes. For the first time, Credence was the one to laugh. He mocked and spat and forced every filthy word in his memory into one piercing shriek.

Then he descended.

Shock coagulated the serpent's gaze forever.

* * *

When Credence furled into himself, his was the only voice. Silt trickled from the ceiling. Iron rails creaked. Wooden supports groaned.

Soft, parched breaths trembled in the corrupted air.

Whimpering, Credence looked for the mouse. Smoke still lingered along the tracks, stenching the blue coat. Limp fingers were curled around a wand. Frizzled, damp hair hung over bloodshot eyes – eyes that, though murky, were inconceivably aware.

"Credence?" The rasp was pathetic. Just like the kitten's mewl as it tried to crawl out of the ash heap.

Credence had helped the poor creature then, and he learned that compassion for evil was unforgivable.

But Mother wasn't here now.

" _Can I come over there?"_ Those words had condemned the mouse; thrust him into Graves' path. But this wizard had taken that chance; had approached Credence while he was still a beast. Now Credence took that courage for himself.

He shuffled forward and knelt beside the blue wizard.

Perhaps normal folk spoke kind words at a time like this. Maybe they touched. Graves offered empty promises, before Mother was killed and he struck Credence instead.

Credence didn't know which the right response was. So he did what he knew. He sat quietly and waited for someone else to speak.

A quivering, pained smile ghosted on the wizard's face. His fingers twitched as though to rise, and he gritted his teeth when that simple action defied him.

Credence understood the body's betrayal.

"Credence," the wizard stuttered, forcing the same anguished smile. "It's all…. It's all right. S'okay… D-don't be afr _ai_ ….."

Green eyes crossed, rolled upright, and sank beneath crusted lashes. The body shuddered once and was still.

Heaving, Credence raised a hand to the wizard's face. "N-No," he gulped wetly. "No."

 _Don't die. You can't. It's not right. Wait!_

Uneven breaths misted his searching fingertips, matching the ghosts of his spent tears. Snatching his hand back, Credence dragged his nails through his hair and pushed down, forcing back despair until it choked his lungs and burst from his mouth in dripping sobs.

 _C-Can't die. It's not right. It's not fair._

Nothing he rescued ever stayed safe. Mother had been right all along.

A soft scritching jolted his desolation. Raising his head, Credence made out a faint wriggle in the wizard's lapel. Apathetically he stared as a stub of torched green poked out from the blue fabric.

Singed leaves curled around a twiggy form. Tiny keens echoed loss as an insect unlike any praying mantis tugged its way free. It crouched by the wizard's pallid face, strangely expressive for a bug. Looking up at Credence, it tapped one smaller twig against the man's chin and chirped.

 _I can't._ Credence shook his head. _I can't do anything._

He would never be a wizard. He would never save creatures or protect Modesty or heal burns and electrified veins. He was only a freak, destined to carry the inner beast.

The twig whined again and then raised its pincers, waving them insistently. Hesitantly Credence lowered a finger. Tiny prongs not unlike _fingers_ gripped the digit and the twig hoisted itself up, clinging with all four legs. Its cries were heartwrenching.

"I can't save him," Credence whispered. _He'll die. He can't live._

Before Modesty was adopted, Credence had seen a man die of electrocution. A powerline had fallen across the man and he had twitched for several minutes, voiceless save for his eyes. Agony in blue-green still woke Credence on occasion. Mother had shooed the crowd away.

"You see?" she had shouted above the voltage. "This man was clearly a sorcerer, and now he has paid the price."

She made Credence watch until a blackened hub remained of the man. It took less than five minutes.

Wizards must be substantially hardier than "normal folk." Credence smelled the burning; saw the forming blisters on the man's swollen hands; but he was alive, and that should have been impossible.

The kitten was still trying to drag itself out of the ashes.

"Credence?"

He heard a woman's voice – searching, then falling in relief. "Credence, can you hear me?"

He didn't turn. Kept watching that uneven hitch for air. Holding the twig.

"Credence, are you – oh, no – no!"

He dropped his head against his knees as fluid burst from his eyes and nose. The twig chittered. Soft heels skidded past him, before fabric rustled and a terrible, familiar voice started pleading. Shivering, Credence raised his eyes.

It was _her_. The one who had stood brazenly long ago, forcing her way between the switch and his trembling hand. He shouldn't remember. Something told him he wasn't supposed to know.

Shaking his head wildly, Credence sobbed, "No – no!"

Choking a gasp, the woman ceased jostling the blue wizard.

 _Newt, she called him Newt, like the salamander Chastity squashed under a flower pot._ _It didn't seem right._

"Credence?" The woman's voice quavered as she looked at him with raw, tormented eyes.

His tongue flopped and he gagged on his own voice. Against his pathetic, _mindless_ inhibition the syllables broke free. "Sorry – sorry – don't – don't die –"

In frighteningly scant moments slender arms were clutching him to a white blouse. Fingers threaded his hair and tender words throttled the beast as it tried to rise.

"No, no, don't blame yourself. Credence. Credence. Sh, it's all right. No one's going to hurt you. You're safe. Newt will be fine, you'll see."

She was sobbing. Breaking her own promise.

He clung to her all the same. He _wanted_ to believe.

He would risk it all if she could save him.

"Hold me tightly," the woman whispered, carding his hair with her right hand while her left crept back to grab Newt's wrist. "Trust me, Credence."

He nodded, gulping tears, and the world vanished around him faster than he'd ever flown.

* * *

When MACUSA tramped into the subway minutes later, wands brandished to eliminate the threat, the only wizard to be found was the scar-veined, white-capped corpse of Gellert Grindelwald.

The darkest wizard in history had been destroyed.

The war with humanity was only beginning.

* * *

 **Quickie post before I leave on the plane. To be continued, unless flamers suggest I feed this excerpt to the Obscurus. (All sentence fragments are recognized and they are staying, so find something else to Slytherize about. Rest assured, your advice will be soundly considered.)**

 **But please, someone suggest I feed an Obscurus. I've never had a good bonfire dance. ;D**


	2. Harbored by Strangers

**Changing the rating to 'T' for injury descriptions. Nothing too gruesome. Readers with light stomachs proceed cautiously and don't read over meals.**

* * *

Stuttering lights of a dusty subway corridor flashed into closer walls and shadowed furniture. Dizzied by the change, Credence fell against a table and scrabbled until his legs stopped wobbling. Clattering followed as the woman detangled herself from the blue wizard.

Newt. His name was Newt. Credence wouldn't forget.

"Lumos," the woman gasped.

Golden blaze assailed Credence's eyes before it toned down to an early morning glow. Immediately the heater rattled awake and a needle zipped into the air, flashing agitatedly through green fabric as though it had been caught sleeping before chores were done. Credence stared.

A flurry yanked his attention to the center of the room, where a sofa spun to attention and invisible hands lowered Newt onto the cushions like Chastity laying out her favorite shawl. Credence lowered his eyes and thought of bodies flopping under his power.

"Credence?" the woman called.

Awkward limbs stiffened on instinct and he jerked his head in her direction, not quite looking. The woman sighed and asked in a gentler tone, "Can you help me with him?"

Brushing a finger down the twig's back, Credence glanced between the sofa and the door. He should go. But Newt had saved him. _Why?_ There was a stream of ugly blisters forming down the wizard's cheek. It made Credence's own face burn in memory, where Mother and Graves had struck him. Their last parting touches.

Credence tucked his elbows into his sides. He couldn't leave now, not when _she_ had asked for his help. But people always gave him orders. Go home. Hand these out. Don't lie. Hold our your hand. He didn't want to listen. The darkness inside scorned – he didn't have to do anything for anyone, not anymore.

He was flickering, losing control, when the mouse stirred.

It wasn't even a moan. Just a soft huff of pain and confusion, and a helpless roll of the head. Desperately the woman locked eyes with Credence.

"Please!"

He moved.

"Hold his hand," the woman said in a tone that wasn't exactly an order. A flick of her wand and scuffed shoes unlaced, trousers slipped off unsocked feet, and shirt, coat and scarf were discarded. Cussing under her breath, the woman shook her head.

"Merlin, where do I start?"

Credence choked on bile and looked down at Newt's hand. The fingers were red and puffed, lined with threads of black, but they weren't as awful as … everything.

"What do I do? What do I do?" the woman murmured, pressing a hand to her face. Inhaling with a shudder, she hovered her wand over Newt's chest and said, " _Reparifors_."

A thin line of white, corrupted skin faded, making upraised veins seem all the more engorged. Inflammation was bubbling up to his neck now, each breath torturously sucked between cracked lips.

" _Episkey!"_ the woman tried. " _Apapneo_? _Reparifors!"_

Credence ducked his head, mouthing the word over and over again. _No, no, no, no, no, no….!_

The plant wailed. It sprang out of Credence's hand and crawled up Newt's neck, scorched pincers jabbing his cheek. Credence snatched it back.

"S-Stop!" Aching gouged his chest for something he'd never known. Desperation for a refuge he would never have. Pleading that surely if this wizard survived, he would be the one who fulfilled his promise.

And finally bitter hatred that once again he had been lied to. Everything wasn't _all right._ The truth was hidden in sweet words of deception, but Credence would be abandoned when they bore the hopelessly noble wizard to his pyre. Graves was right. Credence's power was limited to brick graves. He couldn't even help a kitten.

A snapping _pop_ diverted him before black flames could manifest, and the woman looked up with jaded relief as another witch and her companion righted themselves beside the mildewed shutters.

"Oh, no!" came the exclamation from the female companion. She bustled forward while the large man braced himself against the cabinet. "Tina, what happened?"

She flurried like a disheartened canary, whipping out a gold-handled wand. A brief, apprehensive assessment of Newt and she said with an elegant flick of her wrist, "Anapneo!"

Credence gnawed his lip until the split bled anew. _Please don't let him die._

The roped lines of black on mottled flesh remained vivid and grotesque, but it seemed that Newt breathed a little easier. Teeth clacking nervously, Credence shuffled forward. "Can you heal him?"

The blond whirled, waving an arm in half-fright. Tina lowered her wrist before Credence could run.

"Queenie, this is Credence."

Strangeness flickered across Queenie eyes before they moistened. "Oh! I didn't mean to frighten you. It's disturbing to be surrounded by strangers, isn't it?" She looked behind her, and without giving Credence a chance to ask she pulled the burly, dark-haired man forward. "This is Jacob. Don't worry, he's not anything like Graves. We wouldn't let anyone hurt you. He's a Nomaj – non-magical, see? Oh, but you…." She paused fretfully, then smiled. "Must've been hard to bury your own magic for so long. But don't worry; we'll help you control it. There's a wonderful school called – "

"Queenie!" Tina interrupted. She flung her head in Newt's direction. "Introductions can wait!"

"I didn't forget – he was just so…." Sighing, Queenie nodded and skittered to Tina's side. "Did you try Episkey?" she asked, now fully engrossed in an art as foreign as broom riding.

"He's breathing easier," Tina murmured. She trailed her wand down Newt's chest. The blisters lessened, but a few left watery, red-streaked trails in their wake. "What was that spell you used?"

"Anapneo," Queenie said. "Don't you remember that one?"

Tina shook her head. "We have to get him to a hospital."

"But we're on the wanted posters," Queenie said uneasily. "We could keep him here. Jacob was in the army – he knows all about shock and wounds and how to take care of them, right, Jacob?"

Jacob blinked as the blond's gaze riveted on him. "Uh… yeah," he blustered, "But I'm not a – "

"He knows what to do," Queenie assured.

"But I'm not a doctor!" Jacob insisted. "I don't know anything about heart arrest or blood circulation or third-degree burns or - "

"But you say it so well," Queenie assured. 'You've dealt with this before."

"Yeah, but we were lucky that time." Jacob huffed. "This – this is – this…." He gestured haplessly, as pale as a bleached kerchief. "Queenie, Tina's right – "

"We have to get help," Queenie trailed off. "But who? You can hear them outside, Tina. The No-maj's are battering every door of MACUSA. It's only a matter of time before they track us here."

"London," Tina said cautiously. "They wouldn't refuse him there."

"London?" Jacob gaped. "We're going to cross the ocean? Can you teleport that far?"

"No." Tina's voice was damp, like a raindrop trapped in glass. "Neither of us can."

"If we had a portkey…." Queenie trailed off.

"Don't…." Credence blanched as three sets of eyes riveted on him. He fixed his eyes on the blue coat crumbled by the sofa. "Don't witches have brooms?"

Queenie perked up. "I could enchant one." Sher eyes widened and she swiveled to face Jacob. "They wouldn't really shoot us, would they?"

"They're creeped out." Jacob shrugged apologetically. "They've got guns, Queenie. And it wouldn't be good to put Newt on a broom. You'll …" He pressed a hand to his forehead when Queenie gasped.

"We could kill him!" Queenie uttered.

"I was going to say increase the shock," Jacob mumbled. "But yeah, that's it. There's got to be a magical doctor around here somewhere."

"MACUSA isn't short on doctors," Tina explained. "It's just a question of who will take him – "

"And not execute him afterwards," Queenie finished. She flinched as outside voices preceded a shattering window.

"That's just stupid." Jacob groaned, beginning to pace. Credence scuffed out of the way.

Queenie's eyebrows pinched in a deeper frown. "Poor thing. Here we are neglecting you and Newt hasn't been the only one hurt tonight." She scurried to the kitchenette, beckoning a mug, a brown tin, and milk from their respective places. As soon as the creamy liquid hit the mug, steamy brown froth bubbled and the air curled with fragrant cinnamon.

"Here, Credence," Queenie soothed, pressing the mug into his hand. "This should warm you up."

Elegant fingers smoothed his hair back and he stuttered, leaning into the touch. Queenie smiled.

"She was a horrible thing to be called ' _Mother,'"_ the blond sympathized.

"What about something with wings?" Jacob exclaimed. "In his suitcase! He's got a –"

"A thunderbird!" Queenie finished. "Oh, Jacob, that's marvelous!"

They constantly finished each other's sentences. Credence looked back and forth between the two and then chose to ignore it, cautiously sipping his drink. Warm, luscious and flecked with cozy spice, it was like nothing he'd ever tasted. Mother said pampering the body perverted the soul. She would have forbid this luxury.

If Queenie ever asked him, Credence thought he would like to stay. He would venture trust for a few more hours of being...

Special.

But they were all busy now, trying to save Newt. Jacob and Queenie jumped into a brown suitcase (and Credence stared at that for a _long_ time). When he raised his eyes, Tina had wrapped Newt in a thin sheet and was lifting him by magic again.

"Credence, you'll have to come with us," Tina said. She paused, then added, "Please. You're not safe here."

Credence's attention was dragged elsewhere. He pointed shakily and croaked, "Wait…"

Tina swore and crouched down to cup her hands around Newt's face. Glossy green eyes vacantly roved, before Newt began to struggle. Credence wondered if that was how the kitten in the rain barrel felt. Confused, suffocating, unable to break free of Mother's hand.

Translucent pearls plopped into the cocoa.

"Newt, you'll be all right," Tina whispered. "Hold on for me – please! We're going to get you help."

Puffed eyelids drooped but the wizard's throat worked, engorged tongue curling out the syllables, "Cre…Crede….."

"He's here!" Tina beckoned Credence over and he dropped the mug, stumbling beside her. Newt's vision cleared for an instant, centering on Credence. He puffed a sigh and dull green vanished.

"He _will_ survive this," Tina choked. And though Credence had been tortured with many lies, he chose to believe her. The mouse hadn't died yet. Maybe… maybe there was a chance.

He followed Tina into the suitcase.

* * *

Credence didn't help much, and he didn't feel bothered. He sat in the grass by Newt's head, swiveling this way and that to see _everything_. Sunlight and surreally fresh grass that bruised under his fingers, beasts that romped like circus animals, jeweled birds that would have cheered the greyest afternoons.

Graves had told him he'd never be part of this world. That he was only a burden.

Ripping up handfuls of grass, Credence watched the strands clump like small hills by his shoes. The twig had found its way into Newt's hair, where it sat cooing, tangling its pincers into golden mats. Other nameless beasts settled in. A pouched mole sniffled the wizard from head to toe, patted his face with two paws, and finally curled under his neck with a piteous whine. A silver ape materialized next. It gazed at Credence solemnly, then hopped up to Newt's knee, where it sat immobile save to occasionally touch the sheeted leg. The smallest of four tentacle-faced beasts folded its limbs and snuffed blistered toes. Its relatives hovered behind, bellowing on occasion. Even the reeking beetles paused when they staggered past.

 _Don't die,_ Credence thought more fervently. He scooped up the twig-bug and let it curl around his finger. As soon as it was taken away, fifteen more swarmed down and paraded across Newt's shoulders and head. The wizard wriggled his nose but didn't rouse. _Don't die,_ Credence repeated. _You're special._

 _This_ is what special meant. The word fitted Newt well. Special was something people wanted; someone that even magical creatures congregated around. Freaks weren't special, even though Credence wished so every night he huddled under his bed, watching his hands corrode into magic.

At the beginning, that small release would calm him. He didn't know when that stopped being enough.

"I'll ride Frankie." Credence turned as Queenie spoke. She stepped into the coven, leading a beast with feathered wings and a hooked jaw. Shivering, Credence squeezed the twig until it squawked.

"It's all right," Queenie told Tina with a shrug. "We've already agreed on it."

Tina folded her arms. "We, as in you and the …?"

"Don't be fussy, Tina," Queenie rebuked. "He trusts me, and we'll be out of sight above the clouds. You should stay here with Newt."

Glumly Tina nodded, patting the blond witch's arm. "Be careful."

"I won't drop him!" Queenie said, aghast. She looked at Newt, glanced sidelong at Crdence, and waved her fingers. "Cheer up, Sister. We'll be to London in no time."

"It's a long way…"

"Frankie can make it."

"So… You're flying the thunderbird and we're staying here," Jacob summarized. "Did anyone talk about this? I'm not a wizard but – "

"I won't freeze to death, and of course we'll have air." Queenie pressed a hand to the No-maj's face and smiled. "I promise we'll both be safe."

Blustering awkwardly about time and efficiency and incomprehensible magic, Jacob let her pass. His eyes tracked her, from hair to heels, until clacks and scrabbles rang off the ladder rungs and the suitcase door groaned shut.

"So…." Wringing his hands, Jacob looked from Tina to the animals. "What do we do now?"

"Wait," Tina said. Her voice hitched into a whisper as she knelt beside Newt and scooped the ape into her lap. "Wait, and keep him alive."

* * *

 **Quite the unexpected response last chapter! Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I wrote most of this ditty on the plane thanks to your encouragement.**

 **Fellow Slytherins, take no offense to the term "Slytherize". I am proud of the noble serpent house... and my own tendency to gripe about practically everything. If you want another house to be picked on, you can _badger_ me for the rest of the story. I think Hufflepuffians would enjoy that... :?**


	3. Beautiful World

Brisk, delicate rapping startled Tina out of her witchery, and the blue glow she had been roving over Newt's body vanished. Immediately his face looked a little more strained; a little closer to unhappy wakefulness. Credence tenuously leaned back to peer at the cabin, horribly mindful of the glossy blue serpent that was snoring in his lap.

"Just down the steps here," Queenie's muffled voice was heard above a clatter. She slipped through the doorway, stabbing her wand through drenched blond locks.

"I thought you said you'd be out of the storm!" Jacob reproached even as he shrugged out of his suit coat and bundled it around the blond witch's shoulders.

"Frankie _is_ the storm," Queenie retorted. "I'll be dry in a minute." Golden hair was already fluffing, and a swish of the wand flared her dress as though a hot wind had snapped it dry.

She held on to the coat all the same.

"Tina, you shouldn't let the Occamies play around Credence," Queenie tutted as she summoned the blue snake out of Credence's lap. It sprawled in a heap of shredded grass and hissed spitefully before zipping into the bushes.

Tina had already regained her feet, attentive of the white-bearded wizard standing behind Queenie. Credence haltingly stood.

"This is Albus Dumbledore," Queenie said with less bravado than before. "He said he could help…."

"I've already heard of your exploits, Porpetina Goldstein, Jacob Kowalski... Credence Barebone." Shrewd eyes like those in Mother's tales settled on Credence and his arms twitched violently. He wasn't afraid. They wouldn't bring a wizard who would hurt him. He trusted them.

It was hard to keep still.

Tina shifted closer to Credence, while Jacob stepped between Dumbledore and the smallest tentacle-faced beast. The bearded wizard looked around amicably as though sanctuaries for hideous monsters were commonplace. "So, this is where New York's troubles began. I should have known better than to suggest he observe a Niffler."

Jacob squared his shoulders, his chest expanding with a deep gulp of air before he insisted, "Newt's not going to get arrested, is he?"

"Quite the contrary," Dumbledore assured. "I have discovered that some… unlikely miscreants are far worth saving. Isn't that right, Credence?"

Like a sorcerous kitten and a senseless mouse. Crafty eyes were fixed on Credence, but the expression was neither baiting not cruel.

Graves had seemed harmless too, at first.

Brushing up to Tina, Credence nodded.

He didn't know how close Queenie was until her hand brushed his arm. "He isn't like Graves," the blond witch whispered. "He'll protect us. He's very fond of Newt."

Credence didn't ask how she knew his fears every time. He stooped down, avoiding notice, and followed Dumbledore and Queenie to the shack entrance. Chitters, yowls and coos surrounded them as the animals sought to follow. Tina shooed them from the door, but something small and black slipped past her and wound both arms and legs around Credence's ankle. He didn't shake it away.

The plant was coming along, anyways. Probably wasn't good to play favorites with magical creatures.

* * *

"Lay him here," a puffy nurse with white apron and cap instructed as she swooped back sheets and blankets with her wand. She tutted as Tina lowered Newt onto the bed. "Heedless child. What's he gotten himself into this time?"

"Can you help him?" Weary, heartsick, Tina's request bore little hope.

The nurse waved her aside. "Don't waste your pretty little face fretting, Child. Young Mister Scamander has survived enough reckless escapades….." She paused as the sheet was removed. "Though I must admit, I've never seen him in such a state."

"Nothing your expertise cannot handle, I trust," Dumbledore said.

Pursing her lips, the nurse swished her wand curtly. Muscle and bone rippled under Newt's suddenly transparent chest, and Credence pretended he was dreaming after all.

Jacob, clamping a hand over his mouth, seemed to be hoping the same thing.

"Nothing that can't be repaired," the nurse declared, "But he'll be flopping like a moray eel for a few days."

"So you just… wave your wand and incant some magic spell now?" Jacob hazarded a guess.

The nurse rolled her eyes. "Muggles," she muttered under her breath. "It'll take more than a few potions to dispel a lightning attack. Move aside – all of you," she emphasized, pushing Queenie to the wall. "Where are the house elves? I want everyone out. Professor Dumbledore, you're welcome to stay if you can spare the time, but I won't have any moronic 'suggestions'. You're a passable headmaster, _not_ an apothecary."

"I suggest we leave Madame Nifflehuff to her patient, then," Dumbledore said evenly.

"Professor, we won't be any trouble," Tina pleaded, rushing to slip her fingers into Newt's curled hand.

Credence hugged his sides and rocked on his heels. The mole had slipped away from his ankle, distracted from the blue wizard's side by something more worthwhile. It seemed that such was a sorcerer's fate. Sooner or later, "friends" wandered away.

Once you were no longer useful.

Blinking heavily, Credence leaned against the wall. His eyes felt like raging gaps and his body ached. Breathing took more energy than it should. But he couldn't leave.

They couldn't force the wizard to be alone.

"Miss Goldstein, Mister Scamander is in good hands," Professor Dumbledore said. "Perhaps you are not aware that he was once a student at Hogwarts. This is not the first time Madame Nifflehuff pulled him from death, and it will not be the last."

"If she could just sit close by, that would be enough," Queenie interceded.

"She cannot," Nurse Nifflehuff ordered brusquely. "I have enough work to do without a young witch sniffling in the corner. All of you, out! Shoo! Or I'll transfigure you into toads and boil you in my next salve. _That_ will help your friend, I'm sure."

Queenie grabbed Credence's arm and guided him to the door, whispering fervently, "She doesn't mean it. It's just an idle threat; quite funny, actually. Don't let her frighten you."

"I can't believe it!" Tina choked, whirling back to the door. "Why not – "

"Whoah – look, Tina," Jacob said, steering her from the hospital wing, "Let them do their job. Newt'll be fine; you heard. First thing we learned in the army is don't interfere with the doctors."

"I thought the first rule was 'follow orders?'" Queenie interjected. She frowned when Jacob rolled his eyes. "Same thing?"

Resentment blocked the sound of Jacob's reply..

 _Follow orders. Don't speak. Learn your lines. Show respect. Report back. Hold out your hand._

"Credence! Credence!"

Black eyes snapped to brown as Credence's quaking hands were snared by cold, clammed palms. He stared at Tina's frightened expression _(she wasn't scared, it was something more, something tender and intense and almost akin to possession),_ and slowly willed his arms to still. He barely lowered his chin before she drew him close.

"It's all right, Credence. Whatever is wrong, you don't have to tell me. You're safe."

And with that the burning tore into his throat, heaviness engulfed his lungs, dryness seared his eyes until they were scoured with saltwater. He blubbered against her shoulder, bitter and pathetic and proof that Mother was right and he would amount to nothing.

He didn't know how long he keened. Or how she guided him, half asleep, to a room down the hall where the darkness was friendlier. He only felt her hand urge him to lie down, then sift through his hair, endless, rhythmic, gentle, until the hatred quietly streamed from his limbs and he finally, finally closed his eyes.

* * *

He woke to a pointy-eared, rag-garbed creature brandishing a silver tray in his face. "Breakfast, Master Credence?" chirped a squeaky, girlish voice.

He startled at the intrusion. The creature smiled, jiggling the tray. Rubbing grit from his eyes, Credence backed away, looking from the talking beast to his surroundings. Wood-paneled walls, a desk with an ornamental feather and sheets of old paper, one wicker-backed chair, a far window with burgundy curtains, a lit candle and capper on the square bedside table, and russet wool blankets on the iron-framed bed. It felt uncomfortably like Modesty's room.

"For Master Credence we've prepared an American breakfast," the creature said as it _(she?)_ lifted the silver dome. Scrambled eggs, well-crisped toast, dripping sausages, limp bacon, and a tin of marmalade heaped the plate. Tea, orange juice, and thick cream sloshed in separate mugs next to a bowl of sugared porridge. The heavy odor of salt and grease battered Credence's nose and his mouth watered.

"I'll just put it here, Master Credence," the creature said, raising the tray above her head. Shimmering threads sprang from the corners of the tray, lacing down to intertwine into four delicate table legs. Credence didn't pause to observe the magic. He grabbed a fork and crammed eggs into his mouth.

The creature folded her hands and tutted. "Master Credence musn't eat so fast. Phoebe is told to inform him that there is plenty of food."

Food in plenty, saturated in flavor, with variety that only sinners savored? Credence knew it was wrong. He was indulging in greed and he would surely be punished in eternal flames, but he was sorcerous from birth and already condemned. The wizards had given him food and shelter. He would take it.

He was punished, of course, with cramps in his stomach, but he had never felt so satiated. Phoebe patted his knee and held up a small goblet he could've sworn was absent from the tray. "This will help, Master Credence."

It was steaming, brown, and smelled vaguely of fish, but after a second roil in his stomach he gulped it down. The aftertaste was like stale mushrooms, but the queasiness faded. Phoebe smiled.

"Master Credence is welcome to explore Hogwarts," she said. "Only, Master Dumbledore says he musn't leave the castle, and he would be wise to remain in the upper halls. We, the house elves, would be happy to fetch anything Master Credence desires."

Her ears perked up as though personal servitude _was_ her ideal employment. Maybe it was. Magical creatures were strange as a whole.

Credence wasn't sure if he was expected to make use of Phoebe's offer (Mother lectured that hard work was the soul's salvation and leaving a task to someone else was slothfulness) so he tidily stacked the silver tray and muttered, "Where do we wash these?"

Phoebe's ears drooped as though he had expressed a vile insult. "Master Credence, wash the dishes?" She stuttered incoherently and then exclaimed in a high-pitched squeak, "No!" A snap of her fingers and the tray and contents vanished.

"No, no, no, no," the house elf repeated, tugging Credence to his feet. "Leave Phoebe to do her work. It's good for her! Master Credence shall go explore, and Phoebe will tell him when it's time for lunch. Off, now! Or Phoebe will send for assistance!"

For all Credence knew, "assistance" could be another house elf, or a wizard, or possibly Tina.

He shuffled away as ordered.

* * *

"This is what your magicians – erm, Madusa are capable of?"

"It's MACUSA."

"Right…. That still didn't answer my question."

Avoiding the curious stares of several _moving_ paintings (Credence would believe it was a all dream except that he had no imagination), he crept closer to the doorway slit where he had heard Jacob and Tina's voices.

"If MACUSA had attacked the No-Maj's, the mess would've dwarfed that little catastrophe," Queenie said.

"You mean this is us?" Jacob exclaimed.

The door swung open and Credence froze, balking to flee. Queenie pressed a finger to her lips and beckoned him inside.

"It's all right. This doesn't concern you."

"Quite the contrary," Dumbledore spoke up as Credence slunk inside. "New York was his home, after all."

Glancing at the newspaper slung across the table between the four adults, Credence blanched. New York's upstanding citizens, garbed in black and grey ink, were throwing books, timepieces, and brooms into an automobile bonfire. The picture moved, demonstrating reckless glee as a man brandished a long stick over his head and tossed it into the flames. Printed boldly above the scene was the headline, "New York Muggles Discover Magic".

"MACUSA could not intervene in time to prevent an uprising," Dumbledore said gravely. "Muggle reporters have already termed it 'revolution.' I fear our time of concealment has ended. Once MACUSA is compromised, Durmstrang, Castelobruxo, Hogwarts; all schools will be brought to account. This calls for emergency protocols. Wizards and Muggles were not meant to coexist."

"Didn't they before?" Jacob pointed out. "I mean, really – we had to work together at some point or another."

"Yes, but they burned witches," Queenie reminded.

"There were quarrels leading to wizards being regarded as either superiors or assets," Tina explained. "Servitude was required on both sides of the war."

"Imagine, wizards and witches expected to behave like house elves." Queenie sniffed in disgust.

"Such days are in the past, and _will not_ be seen again," Dumbledore assured. "I believe we can still redeem this crisis. In fact, the Ministry of Magic has already sent its most experienced aurors to counteract the violence. They will offer food, shelter and healing as needed. Perhaps MACUSA will take heed of my advice and respond in a likewise manner."

Credence held his tongue. No one needed to confirm that he was to blame for nationwide panic.

Queenie rubbed his arm. "Don't worry, this was bound to happen sooner or later. It wasn't until yesterday, in fact, that we learned Grindelwauld was behind most of MACUSA's infiltration. A few more months and he'd have betrayed their location anyways."

"That is another matter entirely," Dumbledore said. "For now, we must focus on the awareness itself. You understand that none of you can return to your homes."

"Yes, Professor," Tina whispered. Her eyes were harried and moist, shadowed with sleepless nights. Queenie chewed a nail, watching her.

"You are all welcome to stay at Hogwarts, of course. Even you, Jacob," Dumbledore said, nodding when the No-Maj blinked. "I suspect we are about to become _very_ well acquainted with Muggles. Your influence will be highly valued."

"Well… of course," Jacob blustered, glancing at Queenie. "That _does_ mean no obliviation, right?"

"That would nullify our purpose," Dumbledore said dryly. "You have nothing to fear in Hogwarts. You and Credence may come and go as you please… Though I would not advise you to leave the castle grounds."

"Oh, sure," Jacob agreed. "No reason to worry there. Why leave a magical castle when there's – what was it? Winged horses of death in the forest?"

Queenie nodded emphatically, while Tina rolled her eyes. "Threstrals, Queenie?" she hissed.

Credence rubbed his hands between his knees. "What about Newt?"

"Hasn't woken yet," Jacob said, curiosity tensing into sleepless apprehension. He added with forced positivity, "They said it shouldn't be much longer."

"Would you like to wait for him?" Tina suggested, brushing her hair back with a quiet sigh. "I'm sure he'd appreciate the company."

"Besides four snakes, a swooping evil and a naked rat?" Jacob mumbled.

"I'll show you the way," Tina offered in a tone that implied she was breaking up a premature argument. She held the door open, glowering when Queenie smothered a giggle.

"Ah, there they are…" Credence glanced back at Dumbledore's announcement in time to see two house elves flash into the room, trays in hand. "Tea? Or perhaps something stronger, Mister Kowalski?"

"Coffee," Jacob said with relish.

"Cocoa with cinnamon," Queenie added on cue. "And make it a strong coffee. Maj's make poor brewers."

The latter comment made no sense, but neither did half of Queenie and Jacob's interactions. Credence stepped behind Tina as was expected, avoiding the gabbing portraits. One lady mock-swooned as he passed, then sprang up and sauntered to her giggling trio of friends. Credence's hands burned.

"Such hideous garb in Hogwarts!" a curiously dressed man wearing a floppy hat announced. "Where do they think they're from; the New East?"

"In my day, women never led."

"Well in _your_ day only wizards could be aurors!"

"Oh, but that dark-eyed one. He's adorable!"

"Quite the strange pair. Look at those sloped shoulders! Hah! Poor fools can't even walk properly, let alone heed proper manners. You'd think they'd have more respect when passing a Duke's portrait."

"Visitors in Hogwarts? But it isn't the Triwizard Tournament yet! Do you suppose he's a transfer from Durmstrang?"

"Don't be a fool, Lillian!"

The pestering was handed off as two children in black and maroon robes passed Tina and Credence.

"Shame on you, children! Who sent you to the Headmaster this time?"

"Inconsiderate blighters. Why, in my day…."

One of the children looked over her shoulder, mouse-brown braids swishing. Credence almost mistook her for Modesty.

"Who was that?" the braided girl whispered.

"Hush, Milly! We're in enough trouble!"

"Stay calm," Tina soothed, gripping Credence's hand. "They're just students."

Like he could have been. Never would become. Every chance had been taken away.

"Here," Tina said, leading Credence down another hall. A trio of blue-robed students shoved past, guffawing as they tossed a leather ball.

"Should've known that Kingsley would knock himself out," the tallest one jibed. "Clumsy oaf can't tell a bludger from a quaffle!"

"I have no idea what they're talking about, so don't ask," Tina murmured.

The door the students had exited opened to reveal a large white room, filled with rows of colorless bunks. Three sections were curtained off. It looked excruciatingly clean.

"On your right," Tina said, tugging Credence's hand. She drew him to the far corner, squeezing his hand as she pulled back the tapestry.

Credence didn't know what he expected. A stench, perhaps. Mother took them to hospitals sometimes. It was a good thing to do, to visit the ailing. Give them one more chance to turn back from their sins. The people Credence saw were always filthy, moaning, smeared in excrement, gabbing about strange visits or ghosts standing in corners. Modesty was always quiet after such visits. She skipped without rhyme for days on end.

Perhaps wizards were kinder to the sick. Tina had promised, after all - and she wouldn't let them be cruel.

Credence stepped inside and immediately tripped over an invisible mound. With a miffed snuffle the silver ape materialized, curling its nose at Credence before tangling itself in the drooping tapestry and vanishing. Tina rolled her eyes.

" _Scamander_. You're lucky. One of the house elves nearly lost an ear last night." She exaggerated a stride over the threshold – just in case – and eased past a gruesome, peach-skinned creature, dodging a snapping not-butterfly to reach the bed.

Credence followed. And stared.

The bed was littered with beasts. Sapphire beetles, walking sticks, serpents and a _pink_ owl were slung across lanky, still limbs. Black fur shifted and Credence narrowed his eyes at a blinking, drowsy mole. It yawned, tugged a watch chain out of its pouch, tucked the jewelry under its head, and cuddled into the wizard's chin.

A wizard who, aside from Jacob's uneasy comment, might well have been contentedly sleeping.

"Newt?" Tina called, stroking a thumb down his cheek. His eyelids didn't twitch. Tucking blond hair out of his eyes, Tina sighed. "He will wake. Soon, they said."

Turning about she jabbed her wand, manifesting an empty chair. "You can stay as long as you like. One of the house elves will be nearby if you need anything. Just call."

 _Call what?_ He tried to ask and his tongue froze. Hopelessly he watched her leave. She and Jacob and Queenie would continue discussing important plans, like Mother and Chastity, somewhere where his stupidity couldn't mess everything up. He couldn't be trusted.

Incensed, Credence thunked into the chair.

And waited.

He let the emerald serpent slink back into his lap. It stretched and sighed, forked tongue slurping around a detached insect leg.

A tiny cheer singled out one walking plant among the rest. It waved at Credence, demonstrating a leaf that was bright and new. He wouldn't have recognized it except for one livid scar down the creature's torso, like an old burn.

He realized that Newt must have scars, too. There were a few burn streaks down his face, pf course; pink and hairless skin that would be sensitive to sunlight for a while yet; but that was natural. Credence's hand had been marred for years after Mother held it to a candle. Other marks were surely hidden under the hospital robs: injuries from monsters with beaks, fangs, or claws. Gouges from whipping rubble. Roped scars from lightning's lash.

There should have been more of those. _Everywhere._ Even the hair should be falling out in clumps.

How Credence craved to understand wizard magic.

He held out one finger, inviting the twig to clamber up. It chittered and waggled, proudly displaying each vibrant new leaf. Credence smiled. Faintly. Tried his best.

Contentment was a strange feeling.

A snuffling sneeze distracted his attempt. Startled, Credence almost tossed the bobbing plant, and the snake in his lap hissed like a napping tabby. Credence righted the swaying twig and leaned closer to the wizard. Shortened lashes flickered and the mousey nose twitched. Below Newt's chin, the pouched mole cocked its head and brushed a tiny finger under his nose.

Another sneeze, more agitated before, and hazel eyes flew open. Groggy, disoriented, puzzled, Newt's gaze roved from the tapestries to the ceiling. He looked at the creatures and reached out, frowning when his hand flopped pitifully against the covers. Wriggling his nose, he scowled and tried again, plopping his hand onto one serpent's torso.

"How'd ju gid ou…?"

His eyes fixated on the bedposts, and instantly he stilled. Nostalgia chased out bewilderment in swirls of murky green. Sighing, Newt laid his head back, stroking the serpent's spine. "Bad dream," he murmured.

"Not a dream," Credence refuted.

Relief clarified muted orbs. "Credence."

How Credence envied the ease of a sorcerer's smile.

"Are you all right?" Newt swallowed, coughing lightly between broken sentences. "They've been looking after you?"

Dully Credence nodded.

A pause to acknowledge, before Newt's jaw tightened. "Why am I here?"

"You were hurt," Credence mumbled. "They said you would die."

"That bad?" Newt winced as though sympathizing for _him._ "Tina found you…?" he broke off, coughing, until Credence whipped the curtain back to ask for help. A looming nurse bustled in before he could speak.

"Great hornbills, why didn't you call me sooner?" she scolded in a wizened croak. "Scamander, you fool, you'll cough your esophagus right out again. What are these feathered beasts doing in here? Your friend promised they'd stay in the case. Move over, lad."

Credence hastened out of his chair as the nurse bent over Newt, supporting the hacking wizard and coaching him to swallow an orange, honey-thick fluid. The coughing fit ceased, though Newt continued to splutter.

"Serves you right for trying to leave the bed before your feet know right from left. I know what you were trying to do, Mister Scamander, and don't think I'm too old to predict your ninny-nannies, Worst patient I ever had," she told Credence.

Newt moaned. "How….?"

"Your lady friends and that ogling muggle brought you in last night. Course Professor Dumbledore insisted we keep it tight notch. Naturally the whole school knows you're here."

A despairing groan followed. The nurse cackled. "Don't fret, Scamander, only a few friends know. And by a _few friends_ I could only mean..."

"Me."

If possible, Newt tried to burrow deeper into the pillow. The nurse stepped aside, politely excusing herself as another wizard entered. He fiddled with a whirling timepiece, looking down with a mixture of aggravation and inexplicable care.

"Newt."

"They'll bite you," came the muffled warning.

The visitor's mouth twitched. "I'll take my chances." Hitching his billowing dark robes, he nudged a serpent over and waved his fingers, disturbing a small army of twigs. The pink owl swiveled its head with a vengeful squall, while Credence's twig-beast rose tipmost on its legs and stuck out a woody tongue.

"Charming lot," the other wizard commented. "Feeding them must be a strain on your chequebook. Have you fixed the bolt on your suitcase yet?"

Newt mumbled something incomprehensible.

The other wizard's expression turned grave. "I read the papers, Newt. America, Britain, France, Russia; it's anarchy. Word is spreading fast." Fear gripped his eyes, much like Modesty's when Credence had discovered her wand. "Tell me it wasn't you, Newt. You didn't release the Obscurus."

After a chilling pause, in which the owl decided to devour one of the twig creatures, Newt rolled over.

"I didn't," he said hoarsely.

The wizard breathed slowly. Clipping a nod, he flung out a hand. Like a gecko snatching a cockroach.

Credence's lungs froze.

"You're going to kill yourself one day," the man censored, ruffling Newt's hair.

"Let off, Theseus," Newt griped as he ducked away. He was hampered by long fingers that gripped his chin. Powerful hands, sensitive enough to release without a mark. Like a gentle dog that nuzzled a man's throat.

"Grindelwald?" Theseus growled. His fists shook. Too much like Graves. Credence raised his hand from the serpent's back as it rattled. Tucked under Newt's arm, the mole began to whimper.

"It's over," Newt mumbled, raising a hand instinctively to his face. "The one who did it is dead."

"Or would be."

"Stop it, Theseus," Newt said in the same quiet tone. "You're scaring them."

Flinging his arms into the air, Theseus leaned away. "Always you and the beasts. Can you be sensible for one moment, Newt? We're entering a war!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Newt was shaking slightly. The mouse cowed under a larger opponent, still determined to stand his ground.

Credence gripped his arms until his knuckles bled white. Before he could split, before he could blight out another threat, Newt grabbed his wrist.

Trusting. Pleading.

Shadow sifted back into Credence's heart and was locked away.

"Dumbledore never told you," Theseus ascertained. He spared Credence a glance, but was too preoccupied with the other wizard to be bothered.

Like Graves with Modesty, before he recognized the true sorcerer.

"I've been unconscious," Newt quipped.

Pursing a breath, Theseus rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Of course."

The pause extended until Newt blurted, "What have I not been told?" He rubbed the mole's belly mindlessly, oblivious to the clinking chime every time his fingers shifted over its pouch.

"Grindelwald," Theseus said shortly. "He's dead."

"What?" Confusion sprang past Newt's tenuous control. "Who discovered him?"

"He was hiding in … in MACUSA." Theseus wet his lips, staring at his entwined fingers. "I told him about my family – about ….. Merlin, if I had known…."

"Graves," Newt realized. "He was Grindelwald."

"MACUSA is still searching for the real Graves," Theseus confirmed.

"You think he's alive?"

"Doubtful."

"If it was polyjuice then Grindelwald would need a live – "

"It wasn't polyjuice."

Newt fell silent.

"Who…. Who is Grindelwald?" Credence dared to speak

Theseus finally paid notice. "Newt, you have an apprentice?"

"Wizard in training," Newt insisted. "Graves promised to look after him."

"Not Grindelwald," Theseus said darkly.

" _Graves_ ," Newt enunciated, giving Credence a meaningful look. "Before he…. Vanished," he said thickly. "I promised I would finish Credence's training."

Theseus' eyes narrowed. "Credence? Strange name."

"Yours isn't?" Hazel eyes were charged with weary innocence. Credence finally understood how a mouse could outwit a hound.

Rolling his eyes, Theseus waved off Newt's comment. "You and your pets. Is the Ministry aware of this? Technically you're not a – "

"Dumbledore gave me permission." Soft, immovable defiance.

For the first time, the crippled kitten was the strongest.

"Very well," Theseus acceded grudgingly. "But if the Ministry sees differently, I can't help you. You understand, Newt. I can't intervene."

Newt shrugged. "You always say that."

"Someday it will happen." Ponderously Theseus rose, and the smaller wizard seemed all the more unimposing beneath him. Newt caught Credence's eye and twitched a smile.

 _"Can I come over?"_

He hadn't revealed the real Obscurus. He hadn't betrayed him.

Credence nodded,

Once the taller wizard left the room, Newt melted into the pillows. He cradled the mole, beckoning for its quivering friends and closing his eyes. Credence's twig gratefully sprang onto the striped pajama collar, while the silver ape dematerialized as soon as it touched Newt's foot. The owl practically swiveled its head off while hooting forlornly.

"I know, he's a bully," Newt said. "But he's right – you're not supposed to be out here."

A viper screeched in his face. Newt peeked one eye open and bopped its nose.

"None of that. All of you, back in the….." Before Newt could finish the ape reappeared, looped over his head, and began massaging his temples. He glared up helplessly. "I mean it. I can't chase you all over London again. Back in the trunk."

The mole snarked and clutched his fingers, gumming the tips.

"You're just going to escape again, aren't you?" Wriggling under the covers, Newt patted the ape's head. "All right, but once I'm up you're all going downstairs. No arguments."

The ugly naked rat coughed as though laughing.

Casting Credence an uneasy look, Newt added, "Don't say anything to Professor Dumbledore yet. Technically I'm not supposed to be teaching magic."

"You lied?" Credence clutched his knees, trying to understand. "You told him…."

"I'm sure I can get permission," Newt babbled. The mole was wriggling in delight as nervous fingers scratched its belly. "I was going to ask him before. It's just been delayed. I didn't expect to wake in hospital. Merlin, I hope the others all right."

"You're not l-lying," Credence rasped. "I'll become a wizard."

"Yes, well... if Theasus doesn't throw me in Azkaban," Newt mused.

It couldn't be true. Credence couldn't afford to doubt. But the blue wizard had sheltered him. Protected him from MACUSA. Hidden him from a more powerful wizard.

First with Graves, and now again.

Crescent grooves gouged into his palms. "Why?"

"Beg pardon?" Newt opened one twitching eyelid.

"Why me?"

 _Useless. Pathetic. Mindless. Freak._

Newt's voice was gentle. "Credence, you're… you're special."

"Don't say it!" The serpent skittered from Credence's lap as he jumped to his feet, livid and shivering and raw and desperate. "Don't say it like _he_ did! I'm not – she didn't – don't lie to me!"

Flames dissolved his hands. He _wanted_ to give in. He was tired of being the fool.

Alarm shredded hazel eyes as the creatures fled. _"Credence…"_ Newt entreated.

He scarcely had the strength to speak.

Credence faltered. This was the wizard in a blue coat, setting down his wand.

 _"Can I come over?"_

The flames vanished. Exhaling with a shudder, Newt brushed a hand over his forehead. Spent.

Credence lowered his eyes.

"You know... Theseus used to say the same thing," Newt said lowly. "Our father said … well, he predicted I'd never finish my schooling."

He didn't continue. Credence swallowed rejection. "You're not a wizard."

Everyone lied.

"Father was right," Newt admitted. "Theseus, he... He handed me a suitcase, told me to continue the only thing I knew. I'm still not sure if he was ridiculing me all these years."

Rent eyes searched Credence's until his throat burned.

"But if I hadn't left Hogwarts, all these creatures…." Newt fondly stroked the mole's belly. "They'd be fending on their own. Locked in cages, pinned to walls, melted in a cauldron..." Disgust shaded his eyes.

"So yes, you are special," Newt said fervently. "You're worth protecting. And someday, you may protect others."

Credence didn't speak. Didn't snivel. Didn't hide away,

He picked up the serpent and sat down.

And _trusted_.

* * *

 **Three days of writing including airport travel and I'm posting with minimal sanity. Gryffin _roars_ , have at it. Feed it to the thestrals if you like. **

**(Note: If you don't get Theseus, look him up. Sadly there is no movie personification for his character... yet.)**


	4. Break Away

**This was intended to be a oneshot, and it has since involved into four. Good news is, I fed a thestral last chapter! Keep it up, Gryffinroars, lots of magical creatures need decent meals.**

 **This final section goes to the adorable Niffler. I shall wrap all flames in gold foil and charm the little beast with pseudo treasure. Come on, Ravenclaws, just look at your house name! You know what to do. ;)**

* * *

Credence didn't know what to do most of the time, so he wandered. Up and down halls. Past tapestries that smelled as old as the graves where Mother burned herbs to deter burgeoning witches. Down to the dungeons, where he could sit quietly until students filed in for classes. (Really, he was getting tired of every solitary nook being crowded for _something_ academic.)

He stayed away from the library. He couldn't even _read_ the pamphlets he passed out every morning before Mother's end, and he was certain the other sorcerers would laugh at him if he tried to learn. He would never be mocked again.

Always there were whispers. Credence was the stranger. The dark haired _freak_ , though no one said it aloud. He didn't belong.

If Tina had married, if she'd had room for a child who was too old to be adopted and too dependent to be left alone, Credence fancied – quietly, on his own, when he allowed himself to think on positive and impossible things – that he would have been more welcome in Hogwarts – or at the very least, the Ilvermorny school that Queenie often praised while touring with Jacob.

But Tina was an upstanding witch who was needed in many long, terrible discussions with Professor Dumbledore. Tina was helping to prevent a war that Credence had initiated. Tina was giving up her home in order to protect it from the No-Maj's that Credence had frightened.

So even if Tina had children, or if Newt wanted a family besides his creatures, Credence wouldn't belong to either of them. No one could trust him. All that remained in his soul was Graves' lies.

He told himself that's this was why he stayed away from Newt. Not because it hurt to see mere _twigs_ being petted and cared for with such enthusiasm. Ever since Newt had been able to hobble from the hospital bunk to his suitcase he was limping to and from his secret world. But it wasn't the devotion lavished on beasts that repelled Credence.

No, it was because _they_ were all together, Newt slouched in a chair trying to listen, Dumbledore and Tina and Queenie and Jacob conferring about Graves and Grindelwald and the insecurity of magic, leaving Credence out of it as though he was a _squib_ (and how he shook with loathing at the name) and couldn't possibly understand their heroic attempts to salvage his destruction.

Graves had done _exactly_ the same thing. He had praised Credence's fury, declaring himself as the loyal teacher who recognized his pupil's talents.

That was minutes after he had struck Credence when he needed a teacher most. _"Your mother is dead. That is your reward."_

And now _this_ was Credence's reward. After he had saved the blue wizard, followed Tina in a suitcase to a foreign school, given the sorcerers his _trust_ , waited patiently for someone to fulfill his or her promise….

He was left in a shadowed hall, just like before. Scorned. Never to become a wizard.

He didn't know when anxiety had shifted to resentment. Some reasonable, mature part of his brain told him that the others were giving him his peace; that avoiding the wizards was assuring his loneliness and thus it was his own fault that only Phoebe the house elf pestered him; that he was to blame for his emptiness; but the inner darkness gorged on common sense until all he wanted was to lose control again.

It would feel so empowering to make them revere his magic. _His magic._ The magic of a true wizard.

Gasping out, Credence fell against an arched window and clamped his teeth into his knuckles. _No. Stop._ _I don't want to hurt them!_

He tried to remember the subway. After. When Newt was injured. Graves was the enemy. Tina was his friend.

 _They all left me, just like_ _ **he**_ _did._

 ** _You_** _ran away from them._

No, that wasn't right. They ignored him! They didn't chase him down, like that galling mole that Newt kept dragging out of the Quidditch Cup trophy case. They didn't follow him around like that hideous elf-creature did.

 _"Wouldn't Master Credence rather sit in the sunlight? Would Master Credence like some tea? Master Credence almost missed supper, but Phoebe has brought it for him! Master Scamander is sulking mighty fierce, being stuck in bed and all, but perhaps Master Credence could cheer him up this afternoon? Phoebe was told that cocoa is Master Credence's favorite. Shouldn't Master Credence be asleep? It's nearly midnight and there's so much more to be seen of the castle tomorrow morning!"_

The house elf harassed, but Tina had forgotten. She was too caught up with important _wizarding_ matters – such things as Credence would never take part in. They had the Obscurus in Hogwarts, just like they wanted. Now he was useless. A trophy. A conquest.

Ever more Credence realized that beneath the gentleness of the blue wizard, there had only been one objective.

He had chased the Obscurus down, risking his life flitting across rooftops and following Credence down to the subway, all for the same purpose as Graves.

To tame the beast.

Kind words and empty promises.

Wizards were remarkably cunning.

When the arched window ripped under his palms, Credence smiled.

At last, he was under no one's pity or cruel hand.

He was in control.

* * *

Magic wasn't elegant like dainty silver tables and golden wands. It wasn't cozy like Queenie's hot chocolate. It wasn't even mysterious and beautiful, like a world paraded by terrifying beasts.

No, magic was brutalizing and cruel, sharded by isolation, crushing others by the weight of misconception and infidelity.

Credence had seen magic in Graves' passionless torture. In his mother's dead eyes. In the darkness of his own creation. Pretty spells incanted by good-hearted witches… it was too good to think on, and good things never lasted long.

 _My momma, your momma, witches gonna die!_

It was _wrong_ , all _wrong_ , and it built in Credence's heart like the scream of loneliness after Graves had shoved him away.

 _"I trusted you."_

Just like he had trusted Tina. Newt.

Himself.

Every vow was broken.

Beginning with his own.

Ancient stonework rattled the courtyard in small chunks. Glass threads pattered before a maelstrom imploded in every unguarded hall. Children huddled under broken tables. Jagged pipes spewed water and steam, drenching empty portraits. Scrambling feet tumbled into pools that reflected a roiling nightmare. Screams were throttled into coughs. Corridors shook as formless magic pummeled through level after level. Staircases fell.

Tears slipped unseen onto splintered banisters.

It wasn't right. _He_ wasn't right. They had given him a chance! He could have been… he could have been…

Nothing more than this.

A beast. A monster. It was all inside, waiting to come out, and Credence was tired of fighting.

Tired of feeling alone.

So he punished them all, every wizard who had ignored his existence, every witch who had given his mother reason to switch his hand. Every mark, every slight, he repaid in rubble. Newt, Tina, Queenie, they were bloody lashes in his palm, each a reminder that trust was hollow. Wizards and witches had friends, but Mother was right all along.

The name Credence meant acceptance, she had told him since he first felt an unkind hand. He must accept that _their kind_ would always be rejected by the unbelieving.

By the false followers.

By the nefarious.

Naïve, pitiable souls, led astray by sorcerers and their iniquitous cohorts. By standing for the truth, the Barebone family would never be welcomed by this world.

But Credence _was_ sorcerous, and still the world hated him. Every gentle word tore his soul, branding his past and flaying him ragged. He saw the mouse in the tunnel and he wept, wishing for that kindness and knowing he had corroded his last chance. He thought of Tina, quiet forbearance and comfort – she would never hold him again. Even the magical creatures must surely be dead, and if by wistful chance he had not destroyed Newt's world, then he would no longer be welcomed anywhere near even the humblest bowtruckle.

Credence wailed and shrieked and savaged peaceful grounds, cracking stone like the fractions of his divided heart. The Obscurus screamed for relief, and all of Hogwarts cried with him.

Only the east wing remained untouched.

Credence skirted the outer walls, thinking of a suitcase ensconcing a wondrous world. A grey coat enfolding a tired, brave woman. Color, cheeriness, understanding, and bouncy golden curls. A New York soldier embracing the sorcery which Mother had scorned.

A limping kitten still recovering from its wounds.

He careened too close, clipping the outer walls, and hovered, immaterial and desperate to attack, to flee, to stop, to finish, to repent, to avenge, to beg forgiveness, to crush the means of his conflict. He delayed, pleading for someone to call him back.

 _Tell me to stop._

 _Please._

 _Help me._

But there was no castigation. No stammering offer of guidance.

Nothing but clattering stone.

Credence drifted, morphing, immaterial and yet closer to himself than he had ever been. On its own the monster loomed back, keening at its own destruction.

He hated his magic.

 _My momma, your momma, witches never cry…._

But wizards could, apparently. Even the immaterial could grieve.

How Credence wished he was the opposite of _everything_ Mother had warned him against.

If he was non-magical….

A muggle...

A _squib_ …..

Born with magical ancestry, and yet incapable of harnessing its power.

If only.

Then, impossibly, blue stepped onto grey-strewn, crumpled grass. Heavy limp from scorched nerves. Trembling wand-hand spread wide to demonstrate a lack of weapon. Hazel eyes surreal and calm, beseeching where mercy was undeserved.

"Credence, please." He had to shout to reach Credence's height. His voice cracked, still brittle from strangulated yelps. "Look, I don't…. I don't understand."

Newt looked behind himself, shifting to the other leg, seeming more fitful and desperate than before Graves' lightning attack. "Credence, why? What … what did the others say? Why did you hurt them?"

Like a weary schoolteacher he waited, shadowed eyes never leaving the storm. He would not reproach, and still Credence wanted to cower.

 _I'm sorry,_ he tried to say.

A hard note clipped Newt's tone. "Credence, come down."

Fervently Credence obeyed. His essence drifted scant feet above the ground, clashing in fiery streaks too close to the wizard's face.

Newt lurched forward, regarding him as if he was the mole caught trashing the Quidditch case again. Only there wouldn't be an exasperated scolding for _this_. Credence locked his eyes onto crushed green strands.

"Look at me, Credence."

He couldn't.

Newt made a frustrated noise. "Don't you understand, there are _children hurting_ in there. I don't know how many are… how many might be…" He scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. "Just tell me _why_."

Faint quivering rose from Credence's formless lips. "You weren't there."

When he was afraid. Doubting. Seeking affirmation. Pleading for someone to prove that he was worthwhile. That he was more than a burden.

Bewilderment gentled the wizard's tone. "Credence, do you think I would – "

Blue light smashed into Credence's flank. Sound blazed and he screeched as pain blasted him from the opposite side. Newt shouted and fell, two wizards materializing on his either side. In whirls and cracks the courtyard was filled with marching suit coats and hats. A dark-skinned woman raised her hand in their midst.

"Do not let it escape this time."

Spells cascaded upon her order. Scalding white streaks that torched the Obscurus and dragged Credence into his physical form. He howled. The monster strained, clawing lighted bonds that tore into his consciousness. Fire and glare and punishment and agony. He heard Newt's outcry; clung to it; chattered incomprehensible apologies even as he was torn apart. Felt the light burn into himself –

Until something _wrenched_ him away.

With a voiceless scream he fell. Thudded into the grass. Cut his cheek on a stone. Stared, traumatized, as new wizards in flowing coats joined his tormentors. Standing at the head of the second formation was Theseus.

"Theseus, no!" Newt stumbled beside Credence and clasped a hand around his shoulder. Protecting. A mouse before an unmatchable foe. "Look – look there, see – I've severed the Obscurus. It can't hurt anyone without the host. Please, he's harmless. He can't hurt anyone. There's _no magic_ to hurt anyone."

He was babbling, repeating himself, frantic to be understood. His wand shook uncontrollably. Credence raised his own shivering hands, shocked as beads of scarlet pressed around gravel-filled scrapes. _Something_ was gone.

"Listen to me, it's gone," Newt emphasized, searching one wizard's face and then another's. "The Obscurus _can't live_ without the host. I've separated them – you can see for yourself, there's no magic left. You've no reason to harm him!"

No magic left.

No magic.

 _No magic_.

Credence's instincts screamed that his fears had been justified all along. No one would ever train him to be a wizard.

He was tired of listening to himself.

"Please, you can't – !" Newt's supplication was cut off as brutal arms yanked him to his feet. "He's not – Don't!"

More hands jerked Credence upright and a wand stabbed into his neck. Quivering, he tucked his hands under his arms and rocked.

"You can't kill him! It'd be murder without his magic!" Newt screamed. "He can't hurt you!"

 _Your mother, my mother, witches gonna die…_

Credence closed his eyes tightly: mindless; detached. He wasn't a sorcerer. He wasn't a monster. He was a worthless, non-magical squib. No power. No control.

They still wanted to kill him.

"Theseus, please!" Newt implored. "You can't let them – he didn't have anyone before – you can't blame him for losing control. He's a human being, Theseus! You can't let them k- _umph!_ "

His outcry was snuffed by a wand jabbing into his throat. Theseus' eyes flickered and calmed. Credence's palms burned. He flexed his hands, willing the anger to rise.

His fingers curled, and the only flames he felt were those in his blood as magic failed to respond.

His throat swelled.

Theseus' expression was void as he glanced over Credence. "Professor Dumbledore," he said thinly, looking past Credence's shoulder.

"Theseus Scamander." The answering voice was strained. "Put down your wand, Seraphina. There is more at stake than a reckless child."

"You say as much," the woman replied. She flicked her wand towards the castle ruins. "This is the Obscurus' dealings. You would have us delay justice with munificence."

"I would ask you to delay sentencing," Dumbledore said gravely. "Or do you think I don't realize there are students buried in those halls. The threat is vanquished. Lend us your aid, before more lives are added to the cost."

Indecision flared momentarily, before Seraphina inclined her head. She beckoned sharply and the wizards surrounding her filed towards the ruins. Theseus nodded and his sorcerers followed suit. Newt and Credence's guards remained.

"You cannot acquit them," Seraphina told Dumbledore. "Twice now, Scamander has concealed an Obscurus from us. Three hundred muggles are dead. Eight wizards and two witches have been lynched since our discovery – and this does not count those among their own number who falsely accused. We are at war, Professor, and there is _one_ felon behind everything."

"These are serious charges indeed," Dumbledore said, stepping into Credence's line of sight. "But you are on Hogwarts grounds. The Ministry of Magic shall dictate his fate, and not – "

"The Ministry of Magic _has_ dictated that young Mister Scamander has endangered the wizarding world long enough."

Theseus stepped aside for the speaker; a flamboyantly dressed man with a crisp British accent. Seraphina lifted her chin in triumph.

"Minister Fawley," Dumbledore noted somberly.

"Professor." The man nodded in acknowledgment. He stepped between Credence and Newt and stoically shook his head. "Save your commendations this time, Professor Dumbledore. The ministry has made its decision. He's going to Azkaban."

Dumbledore winced, and Newt swayed. Hazel eyes pleaded with Theseus.

"It has already been decided," Theseus said, choosing to study his wand. "The Obscurus _and_ his curator are responsible."

"You started this war," Seraphina accused Dumbledore, steely-eyed. "By allotting magic to an untrained, _expelled_ student, you have brought this upon us. You will answer for your own negligence."

"Enough has been said," Minister Fawley said, holding up his hand. "Bring the prisoner. President Picquery, the boy is one of your citizens. He is under your charge."

"No! You don't understand!" Newt wrenched forward as his hands were invisibly lashed behind him. "The responsibility is mine alone. Theseus, tell them to let him go! He can't fight them any longer!"

Gripping his wand, Theseus turned his back. "See that it's done," he told Newt's guards.

"Theseus!" Newt screamed.

The air rippled around him and he vanished.

Credence's throat closed in.

He barely felt pitiless hands yank him into the timeless, flittering spiral. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the suddenly crowded, bustling, clamoring, friendless, cheerless hall.

Trying not to hear a kitten's confused mewls as it crawled blindly over its dead siblings.

Trying to forget the hurt he had caused in hazel eyes, like a scabbed wound that had never scarred.

Shrinking in comprehension, Credence released a coarse sob. By releasing the Obscurus, he had rescinded more than his own future.

He had sentenced the wizard who had sheltered him.

* * *

 **And... this four-shot suddenly turned into another cliff-hanger. Dang it.**

 **The niffler is staring at you with sad eyes. You can put "Gold Coin" in the review box to make it feel better. :'(**


	5. Alone Again

**The niffler _would _ thank you for your contributions, but he's too busy stuffing his pouch with gold to pay any mind. :/ Neocolai thanks you for cheering up the little pilferer.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to all of Chapter 4's reviewers who encouraged me to write this story to the end.**

* * *

 _Home_ had been a prison. Cracked wooden walls that echoed with skittering rats, thin windowpanes that never barred the cold, iron railings, wan oil lamps, drab fabrics, chipped, creaking furniture. It was clean – filth was for sluggards, and evil dwelt in an unkempt home – but it was void of all "earthly comforts". Sometimes Credence had dared to raise his eyes while passing out pamphlets. He'd seen bright curtains, cheery pictures, windows glowing with electricity, tables covered in fine lace, children leaping into the embrace of an adult, baked goods set out on windowpanes, and here and there a pot with a struggling spot of green. Whenever he saw these he lowered his head at once, swallowing the ache and the confusion, wondering why those who would suffer for eternity would receive such comforts.

Suffering made the soul stronger, Mother always said when Credence's hands chapped and he watched wind-burned faces take refuge behind painted doors. The Barebones had food and shelter and clothes: they needed nothing.

Still, when he saw the ease and delight in the faces of the wretched, he wondered what he was doing wrong. He never felt the surety of latter reward, like Mother. He followed in her march of perseverance, and his feet dragged. He was never good enough.

But that prison had only been a metaphor, comparing the Barebone household to that of the sinners. _This_ prison was real.

Iron bars and a bench. A grate in the stone floor. Wizards guarding his cell. No one looked at him.

For hours Credence had sat, stunned by the environment, sure that it was all a dream. He would wake in his old room, pent with magic that would see him burn or hang, and he would shuffle down the stairs to accept another handful of pamphlets and pretend he wasn't already condemned.

When the first meal was brought to his cell, reality set in. Credence left the food untouched. The next meal was ignored. And the next.

He rocked, and remembered a liar, a trusted friend, one who had morphed and betrayed every promise.

He closed his eyes and saw lanced hazel, and he knew who the true deceiver was.

He remembered stone crumbling under his hands. Screaming. Mother. Chastity. Students in black robes.

 _"There are children hurting in there….."_

The only reason Credence had clung to Graves' necklace was because Modesty had run away. Because _he_ was the monster. Because she was afraid of him, and if anyone could save him from himself, it was Graves.

Squeezing his eyes tightly, Credence closed his hand around the memory of a toy wand. If Modesty had been a student…. If she had been at Hogwarts... If he had….

Another tray entered the cell.

Cockroaches scuttled over the undefended rations. If enlarged properly, they might have looked like the dung beetles in Newt's suitcase.

Such awestriking creatures in that secret world. Powerful, small, feathery, webbed; all unique. Harbored in a world of green and blue and sunlight and storm. They had all flocked around Newt. Fearless; harmless in spite of sharp beaks and elongated claws. Amidst his creatures, he seemed to be content. Credence had thought… at one time… that he would have liked to have been one of those animals, if only to belong to someone.

Now he wondered if Azkaban was also a prison, or if Newt was already dead.

He could believe that maybe Tina and Queenie and their friend had survived, and he hadn't really killed anyone after all.

But he knew that he would be haunted forever by the thought of one soft-spoken wizard.

Newt had protected him.

From Graves. From Theseus. From Dumbledore. From the wizards.

In fact, he'd protected _everything_ but himself.

The prison bench spattered with the occasional drip of warm salt.

 _Azkaban_. Was it an execution block? A dungeon? An illegal trading port? A courthouse?

Whatever it was, Newt had been afraid.

No matter how much anguish Credence drew into himself, no matter how cruelly his hands shook, he could not quake the iron bars. He bent his head against his knees and groaned apologies, begged forgiveness from a wizard who would never hear him, and still the beast inside of him would not stir.

His magic was gone.

The only thing that had given him control. The only reason he was worth _anything_ , even to a quisling like Graves.

Empty.

Was it worth anything in the end, Credence wondered? The power. The triumph. The deaths of everyone he hated. They had paid, he had been satisfied, and Newt had taken the blame.

It hurt more than the thought of disappointing Tina.

And Credence thought he would break in two.

* * *

When the next tray was left untouched, the wizards forced a bitter liquid down his throat.

Afterwards he felt hungry and frantically chased the roaches away, though he felt no satisfaction in filling his stomach.

All the same, the trays began to return empty, and the wizards left him alone.

* * *

"What is Azkaban?" Credence finally asked when a wizard passed his cell. He tried not to think on it. Clasped his hands to keep them still.

Tried not to imagine a mouse in a trap.

The wizard looked up, either taken aback by the question or surprised that Credence had spoken at all. He magically retrieved another tray – prison matters were never attended to by house elves, apparently – and inclined his head in detached interest.

"Spend a lifetime within these walls and you'll know nothing of Azkaban." He paused, disconcerted by something in Credence's expression, and added quickly, "Count yourself blessed that the president knows mercy."

The wizard didn't speak further.

Credence never asked questions again.

* * *

He didn't mark days, like the angry man who had been imprisoned sometime after he was first locked away. He didn't hide cutlery, or try to pick the locks.

He sat and rocked, and thought of black flames erupting in an empty house. Modesty crying. Black lines on Mother's face.

He hadn't actually _attacked_ any students at Hogwarts. Perhaps wizard magic had saved them from the destruction.

Newt hadn't thought so.

Twice now the blue wizard had stopped the monster from killing anyone else, yet he had still been imprisoned.

It wasn't right.

* * *

Seven days after the angry man had been locked in the cell diagonal to Credence's, a new wizard entered the prison. He didn't look like any of the others. Slick brown hair, a well-pressed suit, (just like Credence's had been, before it frayed on rubble and lost color after extended days without a change), shiny black shoes, a confident smile, and crafty eyes. The wizard nodded to the usual guard and stalked over to Credence's cell.

"I'm to take him to the interrogation room," he said. "The president believes he was plotting with Grindelwald before his capture."

"Grindelwald is dead," the guard said. He was the most cordial of them all – the one who had told Credence about Azkaban. He cast a wary eye at Credence, huddled on the bench. "What good are his plots now?"

"I don't make the orders," the new wizard retorted. "Enough dawdling. Do as you're told."

His authority seemed to stall the guard. Dropping his eyes, the guard lowered his wand to the keyhole – and lunged, streaming blue light towards the newcomer's face.

"Expelliarmus!" a feminine voice chirped, and the wand clacked harmlessly against the wall. Instantly the new wizard thrust out his fist. A tumbling thud, and all was silent.

For a moment the new wizard stood open-mouthed over the guard, staring at his fist. "Wow," he breathed.

Clicking heels summoned his dazzled wits. Straightening his suit, the wizard turned to the door. "Is there some special spell to open it, or – "

A flossy-haired, petite witch stepped in front of him. "Alohamora."

Credence staggered back as the hinges creaked open. The prisoner diagonal to his cell began to cackle.

"MACUSA's breaking out its own prisoners! Mine eyes have seen the judgement day! Where's the – "

A flash from the witch's wand and he splayed back against the wall.

"Wow," the new wizard repeated.

A momentary preen of acknowledgment, and then the witch exclaimed, "Credence, it's us. It's Jacob and Queenie. We're here to free you."

"I know, I look like the president's attorney right now," supposedly 'Jacob' said. "Queenie says it'll wear off, but…." He looked behind him and poked his head inside. "You got this? No one's going to hurt you, okay?"

Credence stared. The soothing words were Jacob's, but they didn't match the wizard's stern, temperamental face. He had to be telling the truth, though. He _had_ to be. If he was lying… if they were here to interrogate him…. Credence gripped his sides, feeling colder than he ought.

"Wait – hold this," the witch said, shoving a feathery purse into not-Jacob's hands. He stood awkwardly while she slid off her hat and turned it around, retracting an odd, mantis-like plant from the green ribbon. Credence's eyes flared in disbelief. There was no mistaking the jagged, lightning-induced scar down its thorax.

"You remember Picket, don't you?" Not-Queenie said. "We didn't steal him, Credence. He was in Newt's suitcase. They're all safe – all the creatures. We wouldn't lie to you."

The bowtruckle waved its leaves enthusiastically. Credence heaved for breath, trying to form the question. Gasping for words.

Queenie/Not-Queenie's face fell. "We don't have Newt," she said in a tone too aching for the flirtatious, pretty face. "We'll meet up with Tina, and from there…. We'll free him, Credence, I promise. You trust us, don't you?"

He did, oh how he did, how he wanted to trust them. They were more reliable than his own quavering spirit.

"W-Why?" Credence begged to know. _Why would you come for me?_

Large eyes grew impossibly more luminous in a face that was too charming to be Queenie's. But the compassion could only be hers as she pattered into the cell and smoothed Credence's filthy hair out of his eyes.

"Oh, Credence," she murmured, "You're not too abhorrent to be saved. We Goldsteins look after our own, and … well, you're one of us now."

It didn't make sense. It didn't make _sense!_ But there were hands caressing his face, and a shoulder hiding his tears, and Credence wanted to believe.

Too soon, Jacob/Not-Jacob cleared his throat and Queenie pulled away.

"You're right. We need to keep moving." She pulled out her wand and stripped off a silver watch, thrusting it into her pocket. "Credence, this won't hurt. We're going to smuggle you out of here, but I can't play Obliviator this time. I'm going to have to hide you. There's nothing to be afraid of."

She touched his nose with the wand, and the grim walls swooped and enlarged while his bones cramped and his stomach flipped into his esophagus. By the time Credence had mind to shout, his limbs were frozen solid and the only sound he could make was a timorous _tick_.

Queenie's hand loomed above him, and it took Credence long moments to realize he was banded around her wrist.

Just like a silver watch.

Immobile, gleaming, helpless save to mark the hours as time passed. It was worse than a prison. Worse than interrogation. If the gears were to stop, Credence wondered, would his existence cease with it?

"Transfiguration is difficult to explain," Queenie said rapidly as she and Jacob hastened up the stairs. "This isn't permanent. As soon as we're clear of the building I'll reverse the spell. Trust me, Credence."

He didn't have a choice. He couldn't even shiver, pent as he was, but the gears let off a forlorn _click_.

Queenie pressed a warm hand around him and kept walking.

Credence couldn't rock or close his eyes, but he focused on the blood pumping through Queenie's wrist. _Kathud_. They had come for him. _Kathud_. They wouldn't break their promise. _Kathud_. They would save Newt. _Kathud._ This was all his fault. _Kathud._ There had to be a way he could make things right.

 _Kathud._

 _Kathud._

 _Kathud._

In the end, there was no one left to fool. Credence's successes were nonexistent, and he was no longer a miracle. He would be useless to any of the wizards.

And yet, Queenie and Jacob had risked their safety to rescue him.

Mentally curling into himself, Credence was forced to confront himself in the only way a wrist-watch could.

Silent, timely contemplation.

While Not-Queenie and Too-Stylish-To-Be-Jacob strolled past huddles of overwrought sorcerers, Credence created a mental list of ways he could be useful. It was easier when he imagined the faded scars on his hands. One for every sin he must beg forgiveness for.

One: Never bring pain into Newt's eyes again.

Two: Never make Tina cry.

Three: Find Modesty and tell her he was sorry, and she could smile because she didn't ever have to be afraid of him again.

Four: Rebuild something – anything – that he had destroyed.

Five: Learn how to care for Newt's creatures. All of them.

Six: Be nice to Phoebe.

Seven: Apologize to Dumbledore. (Credence quavered on that thought. He hoped the schoolteacher didn't carry a switch.)

Eight: Stay in the room or suitcase or wherever Newt or Tina or Queenie put him until he was needed.

Nine: Keep away from all wizards that aren't Newt or Queenie or Tina. (That would make apologizing to Dumbledore a little harder, but it was a good rule until someone told him otherwise.)

Ten: Never think of Mother again.

Eleven: Don't think about Graves, either.

Twelve: Don't be useless.

Credence was trying to estimate how many sub-clauses could go under rule number twelve when a horrible screech quivered his glass casing. Queenie swirled around, giving Credence a dizzying sideways view of torsos and legs and everything else that loomed at wrist-level. Out of the corner of the watch face he saw a business skirt and high-heeled shoes marching straight towards them.

"You pig-headed louse!" the screecher gnashed. Clacking heels gouged the rug and a ringing slap ended all pretenses of conversation around them.

"…Cecily?" Jacob-not-Jacob said queasily. "Uh… Sweetheart, what's the matter? I thought – "

"Don't you sweet talk me, you filthy blood traitor! How dare you bring her here? It was one thing when you were sneaking behind my back, and now you want to publicly humiliate me?" The blond witch sounded close to hysterics. "If that's how you want it, Sam, we're over!"

"Wait – Babe, this isn't how it looks!" Jacob floundered. His arm lanced into Credence's vision as if Queenie had dug a heel into his toe.

"What he means is, we were assigned a case together," Queenie said, her voice gushing with tearful apology. "I'm on orders to disguise as a No-Maj reporter to follow the lynch mobs. The president ordered a protector for me – I didn't choose this, Cecily, please believe me."

"Oh, I'm sure." Injury eased into a hateful sneer. "Poor, naïve, pretty little Ruby is helpless under Sam's charms. You two liars are perfectly suited for each other! I won't be disgraced by you again, Sam! You can rot in – Mmph!"

Abruptly she was shoved into Credence's line of vision by a well-dressed, _passionate_ , definitely-could- _Not_ -be-Jacob. One hand was in her hair and the other just grazing down her lower back, as his mouth pressed her further back until she moaned and melted into his side.

"Cecily," Sam/Jacob murmured as he broke away, "I could never leave a girl like you."

Cecily hummed in agreement, slung into his arm like a child who had been given a cookie because she stopped kicking furniture. "Prove it to me."

Chastely Jacob captured her lips again. Queenie's pulse thrummed against Credence's band.

"Tonight?" Sam/Jacob invited. "We'll do it just like old times."

Hopeful adoration filled Cecily's eyes, and she stared at Not-Jacob, searching for the lie.

Credence hoped – just once – that Jacob was insincere. He knew what people did in the shadows behind buildings. This wouldn't be right to Queenie. It wouldn't be right at all.

Silver metal tremored and the left hand shifted faster than the seconds should have allowed, but nothing else responded to Credence's outcry.

No magic. No power. He couldn't control anything.

"Okay," Cecily said softly. She glanced sideways at Queenie, and her mouth turned in contempt. "But you stand me up, and everyone will know. And they'll know about your pretty little – "

Queenie just happened to clap her hand over the watch face at that moment, blocking out the last few words. As soon as she pulled back, Jacob rejoined her and together they marched through the garrison of gawking gossipers. Contemptuous whispers and smug nods followed them. Just like the sneering crowd who jeered when Mother warned them about witches. Like the ones who shoved Credence aside when he tried to do as he was told. Pass out the papers. Warn them, or forever blame himself for their ****ation.

It would be so easy to make them cower every time Queenie and Jacob entered the room.

Juddering, Credence stilled himself. The ticking watch hand was going too fast, mimicry of his panic.

 _You can't. You promised. They'll imprison Newt forever._

Queenie started fiddling with the watch. In a way it was like a shushing embrace, urging him to calm down.

Credence was glad there wasn't any magic left to fight against. He had no control, even over himself.

When they stepped outside – past lines of guards and airy shields that barred hammering fists and block-letter signs – Credence saw the world that President Picquery had described.

Downed banisters. Shattered doors creaking inwards on smoldering dwellings. Glass shards littering the sidewalk beneath every home. Litter and excrement sullying bodies. One unrecognizable corpse lay on the side of the road, a rope tangled beneath its swollen head. Rats nibbled choice bits of _everything_.

And from every gang there rose the hoarse outcries against magic.

 _Murderers. Pagans. Black-Robed Freaks._ Such invectives clamored in Credence's mind.

Smog rose with a sweet, heady, nauseating stench. He saw a body wearing Ministry robes swaying over flickering orange, before Queenie covered her wrist.

"This is far enough," Jacob croaked.

A flare of grey and fire and dust, and the stench was gone.

Smoke lingered in Queenie's suit as rickety shelves and earthen pots interchanged with smashed pavement. The floor suddenly loomed and Credence's cheek slammed into it, floppy limbs twitching in tune with the passing seconds.

"I'm sorry! I didn't think the transfiguration would be traumatic!" Queenie/Ruby said as she knelt beside Credence and touched his arm. "I should have warned you first."

He wanted to swear, but Mother said that swearing was of the devil and he was already doing everything else wrong. Moaning softly, Credence used the only provocation that was permissible in trying circumstances.

"Ow."

"Oh, Credence!" Haplessly Queenie rubbed his shoulder, as though a gentle touch could ease both his limbs and his distressed mind.

It _did_ feel somewhat calming.

"Kay, where's Tina?" Jacob muttered, peering around the dingy room. He flicked cobwebs aside and sneezed. Kempt brown hair started bleeding into black, and Sam's tidy suit began to groan at the seams.

"Jacob, you should change," Queenie said with a noticeable edge. She jerked her wand-hand and a grey suit unfurled from her tiny purse and slapped into Jacob's face.

"Whoa, what's this about?" Jacob said in a discernibly _Jacob_ voice. "Queenie, is this about that girl? You know that – "

He ducked the left shoe, caught the right, and was blindfolded by a wayward sock.

"Come on, Queenie." Jacob sighed, yanking off Sam's choking red tie. "Read my mind. You know she needed a distraction. I would _never!_ "

Fishing Jacob's tie out of her purse, Queenie/Ruby tossed it at his feet. Jacob cringed, gave up yanking on the overstretched suit, and shambled to her side.

"Fine, Queenie. If you won't believe me, I'll prove it one way or another. But I'm not going to kiss you while you're wearing Ruby's face. That's not the girl I know."

Credence didn't understand it, but suddenly Jacob was smiling and Queenie/Ruby was biting down a grin.

Wizards were strange.

"Go change," Queenie said quietly, slanting her wand across Jacob's vest. The buttons slithered free and gathered tidily on a nearby table. Nodding in relief, Jacob gathered his clothes and waddled to a nearby closet. The door almost swung off its hinges as he closed it.

"Beastly place, isn't it?" Queenie prattled as she yanked pins out of the hat and shook her hair free. Flossy long strands curled back into short waves and her skirt noticeably shrank as she stretched. A flourish of her wand and Ruby's tripsy yellow skirt sifted into elegant forest green.

"Jacob likes to do some things the No-Maj way," Queenie said, without Credence needing to ask. "I suggested this might be easier, but he thinks it's impolite to dress in front of a lady. It's very chivalrous of him."

"Where are we?" Credence's voice cracked, but he didn't shiver.

Mother didn't feel quite so close when the wizards were around.

"Some old shop." Queenie shrugged. "We're in Knockturn Alley. Thee …. We were given a portkey. Faster than No-Maj travel, but they're hard to come by. After Grindelwald was discovered, MACUSA put up anti-glamor wards everywhere, so we had to use polyjuice…." She stopped with a shuddering intake, and apologetic grey eyes sought something no one had ever asked of Credence.

Forgiveness.

"That's why we couldn't be there sooner," Queenie said faintly. "Our contact had to find a way into MACUSA, and then there was the brewing time, and we were all being watched because of…. But we're here for you now, Credence. You won't ever have to be alone again."

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to believe. So he sat and cradled his hands, repeating those words he'd always wanted to hear.

 _You won't ever have to be alone…._

But he'd betrayed Newt after that same promise.

"Credence, it wasn't your fault." Queenie came towards him like a thundering falcon trying to hug a small rabbit, just before Jacob called out, "Not now, Queenie."

She balked, looking at him with distress and urgency. Jacob shook his head. "Not now," he repeated. Approaching Credence, he crouched beside him without touching. "Give him some time. He's killed people. It's not an easy thing."

"Jacob," Queenie breathed.

He held up his hand. Didn't budge when Credence drew into himself. He just watched with simple, transparent dark eyes, offering neither sympathy nor stories of understanding, hiding nothing.

It was the first time someone had spoken to Credence without concealment.

"Why did you come for me?" Credence said lowly, rubbing his hands between his knees. He balked, and instead of filling the abscess with words, Jacob waited for him to speak. "I … I did … H-How many died?"

"Dunno," Jacob admitted. "Professor Dumbledore sent us to a hideout as soon as the Magics were gone. We didn't see much."

They must have heard Newt's pleas.

"Why are you here?" Credence whispered.

"Cause I've killed people, too," Jacob stated. "Look, Kid," he said deliberately as Credence's head lanced up, "Life is full of people just like Graves. Most of those people start wars. Could be in the home, could be halfway across the world. People like me, we're hired to shoot people. Don't know who they are or what becomes of their kids. We do our job, and they slap a medal of bravery on us and tell us how we're heroes for leaving broken people behind.

"Graves was just like that," he continued. "He was using you as a means to finish his own personal war. He gave you the orders, he earned the glory, and you got to live with the aftermath. There's blood on your hands, Kid, and it won't ever wash off, but you've got to move on. You've got to become a better person despite what you did. That's what I'm trying to do. That's why I want to be a baker. Maybe…" Agitatedly Jacob smeared the back of his wrist over his eye. "Maybe enough people will be happy to make up for what I've done."

"Or maybe not," he added, fixing Credence with a determined stare, "But that's all I can do. It's your choice, Credence. We sprung you out of there, now you decide what your life is worth. I'm not leaving you in a cell to mourn the past, though. Like it or not, you're tagging along."

"You want me… with you?" Credence said in a small voice.

"Of course we want you," Queenie gushed, moving in to rest her hands on his shoulders. "That's why we're here, after all."

"Couldn't just leave you in a MACUSA cell," Jacob confirmed. "Tina's working her end of the line. Soon enough we'll have –"

A crackle of air unleashed a formidable dust cloud, and Jacob's disclosure ended in a throe of coughing. Credence breathed through his jacket, abhorring his own smell, until the haze cleared and Queenie gasped Tina's name.

"What happened?" the blond witch asked, trotting over to her sister. "Where's Newt?"

Tina shook her head and plunked a familiar suitcase on the table in front of her. "Theseus wouldn't let me get involved. He sent me ahead with this."

"Theseus?" Credence surprised himself with his own voice. His hands quaked uncontrollably. "He – he put…."

Gritting his teeth, he swallowed the hateful words. They burst from his throat in a desperate keen. "He put Newt in Azkaban!"

Tina was beside him in an instant, chapped, nail-bitten hands gripping his own. Her eyes were shadowed and her cheeks thin, but the same haunted longing glistened in her eyes as Credence had seen in the subway corridor.

"Credence, listen to me," she said fervently. "Theseus couldn't stop them from arresting Newt. There were too many accusations standing against him. That's why we're here now – so that both of you can be smuggled out safely."

"It's all my fault." He'd wanted to say it to her for so long. "If I hadn't been angry – if I hadn't killed anyone –"

"It's not your fault." So many lies tumbled from those brimming dark eyes. Lies that Credence wanted to hear. "It's not your fault, Credence."

He didn't believe her, but he soaked in the words and leaned into her caress. As long as she wanted to believe he was good, then Credence would desperately try to live up to it. He could be malleable. He could mind the list. Never think of Mother or Graves again.

And then he'd be the perfect No-Maj that everyone wanted him to be, and he'd never feel pressured about magic or feel out of place. He'd have a home.

The concept felt empty and dull, but Credence would take it.

* * *

They waited for hours. Credence knew because Queenie had Ruby's silver watch, and it chimed every fifteen minutes. Jacob startled every time. There were odd comers passing the building's cracked windowpanes – wizards and crooked beggars and frightful-looking peddlers – and Credence would have felt as jittery as Jacob if Tina hadn't been sitting beside him the entire time.

"Tina, look at this," Queenie called from the window furthest across the room. "There's No-Maj's in Knock-Turn Alley. Fancy that. All dressed up in their funny hats…. Is that what Londoners wear?"

"Queenie, come away from the window," Tina urged.

Blinking in disillusionment, Queenie meandered back to the shadowed corner. "Imagine, No-Maj's among wizards." She sounded wistful. Sad. "It all seems so easy here."

Tina reached across Credence and gripped her sister's hand. "Don't torture yourself. We couldn't prevent anything."

"No," Queenie said airily. "Nothing at all."

Truth was butchered in a crisis, and no one minded.

Credence was beginning to understand.

He jumped and cowered against Tina when a loud _BANG!_ erupted in the room and a dark shape furled out with a billowing cloak. Tina launched to her feet and Credence imagined Graves and Mother all at once, while Jacob stood in front of him as though a No-Maj could impede anything that could hurt a wizard.

"Merlin's beard, put down your wands."

Tina sobbed and Credence clued into the fatigued, gravelly voice.

"Theseus," Tina choked, running towards him. "Tell me you – "

Her voice faded into an anguished plea.

"No….."


	6. Redemption

**I fear that most of the Niffler's fans were devoured by the Obscurus named " _******mas Planning_." Here's to the lucky few survivors. ;)**

* * *

Previous Chapter

* * *

 _He jumped and cowered against Tina when a loud BANG! erupted in the room and a dark shape furled out with a billowing cloak. Tina launched to her feet and Credence imagined Graves and Mother all at once, while Jacob stood in front of him as though a No-Maj could impede anything that could hurt a wizard._

 _"Merlin's beard, put down your wands."_

 _Tina sobbed and Credence clued into the fatigued, gravelly voice._

 _"Theseus," Tina choked, running towards him. "Tell me you – "_

 _Her voice faded into an anguished plea._

 _"No….."_

* * *

Shivering in the dark room, Newt shrank against his brother and stared ahead with muted eyes. His filthy coat swamped him, more grey than blue, and his knees clocked together when Tina raised a hand.

"Newt?" she whispered. Inching forward, she brushed a hand against his hair, sweeping it from his eyes.

He flinched.

Credence lurched to his feet.

Fresh tracks gleamed on Tina's cheeks as she fidgeted uncertainly, finally folding her hands without a word. Theseus waved her aside as he maneuvered Newt into a lumpy chair.

"It's the shock. It'll pass; sooner than you think." He then beckoned for Tina, gesturing for her to sit across from Newt, nestling tremulous hands between her own. "I've looked after him for years, Porpentina. He's stronger than he looks."

Such lies weren't even kind.

Credence wouldn't listen to any more.

"Y-You're lying!" he choked, dragging one foot forward and clenching his fists. He concentrated within, feeling the anger curl into black flames. He only had to look at Newt – bedraggled, shivering, too crushed to save himself from the stomping heel – and he channeled himself with more vehemence than he had ever felt against Graves.

He would crush this one, and he would never repent.

Theseus' hand casually fell to his robes. He watched Credence dispassionately, refusing to cower.

It took an awkward cough from Jacob for Credence to realize _nothing was happening_. He choked, thrusting out his fingers, willing himself to dissipate into wrath.

The floor didn't even tremble.

"Credence, I think you need to sit down," Jacob said quietly.

Looking over his shoulder, Credence paled. Queenie hovered close to Jacob, forefinger pressed anxiously beneath her lip, the gold handle of a wand gleaming in her lowered hand. He swiveled to face Tina. Poised in front of Newt, hand on his shoulder, pleading and protecting and trusting that Credence wouldn't do it again – wouldn't hurt, wouldn't kill, wouldn't expose them all.

Wouldn't thrust Newt into Azkaban all over again.

Credence hunched into himself. Hands limp at his sides, fury spent. Theseus stalked past him, a brush of cold dismissal, and Credence kept his eyes lowered.

After all, he was the motive for Newt's arrest in the first place.

He was the reason Theseus' brother had almost died.

Wearily he plopped back into the chair and hoped they would forget him.

He watched Newt out of the corner of his eye. Green flurried past as Queenie rushed to kneel beside the mousey wizard, mute tears reiterating whatever hurt she seemed to be reading in his expression. Credence clawed his hands into his hair, remembering a snarling kitten defending him from a serpent, and he wondered if this was how Modesty would spend the rest of her childhood.

Forlorn, distant eyes that flickered, lingering in fear whenever a shadow moved. Shallow breaths exasperated by gravelly coughs. Unsteady hands clutching a brown stick, as if a child was playing at magical beasts and needed a bowtruckle.

"Take these."

Credence was forced out of his thoughts as Theseus thrust a black folder at Jacob. "Letters of clemency, and enough galleons for you to settle comfortably in London. The Ministry has agreed: we need peacekeepers between Muggles and Wizards, and you were the first to perceive magic in America and not be Obliviated. We need your advocacy at this time."

"Whoah, wait a second," Jacob said, eyeing the folder as though it was a decomposing tripe. "I'm not staying in London. Newt goes into exile, we go with him. That was the agreement."

"The offer is for you _and_ Miss Goldstein," Theseus said with some frustration. "You've been offered a chance to influence the world, Mister Kowalski. Europe is only the beginning. Soon every continent will be aware that magic exists, and unless we can convince muggles that wizards can only bring good, then war shall destroy us all."

"Only good?" Jacob daringly raised one eyebrow. "You mean to say Azkaban's a good thing? 'Cause I can name any American prison that wouldn't bring a man that low."

Something indiscernible darkened Theseus' eyes. "It was not my choice, Mister Kowalski."

"Sure." Jacob nodded curtly. "He's only your little brother. I got that impression from MACUSA already."

Theseus' hand clenched and Credence cringed into himself, certain the wizard would strike Jacob with the folder. With forced control, Theseus set the papers beside Jacob.

"This is your one chance," he said, turning away. "But there will be more who see his fate, if we do not find peace. The muggles easily turn on their own. How many more of us will be locked into their cruelty?" He looked at Credence, and for an instant there might have been compassion in his stern expression. "There will be more children in hiding, if the muggles should rise against us. More unreliable magic that will only cause them to hate us more. It will be like the ancient days, save for the _ingenuity_ in their killing machines."

He spat the word and Queenie's horrified gaze lanced away from Newt, as though she was discerning far more in Theseus' words. "We have spells," she said in a small voice. "We could protect ourselves."

"From machine guns, yeah," Jacob said edgily. "Bombs and poisonous gases, too? How well protected was Hogwarts from the Obscurus?" He glanced back apologetically at Credence and sighed.

"This doesn't have to end in war," Tina spoke up. "Theseus. There has to be another way."

The wizard only bowed his head. Faintly Credence heard the whisper. "I couldn't even protect him."

Grave silence followed his admission. Tina squeezed her eyes shut, gripping Newt's chapped fingers. Queenie and Jacob looked at one another in that strange, unspoken way, and slowly Queenie nodded.

"Tina, he's right."

"What?" Tina exclaimed.

"We can't hide forever," Queenie said, avoiding her sister's eyes. "Sooner or later they'll track us down. They'll find you… and…." She breathed deeply, face set. "I can't protect you in Australia. You'll have to go on alone."

"Queenie, we said we'd stick together!" Tina said, rising to her feet. "No matter what happens – "

"I know what I said," Queenie said jarringly. "Tina, don't make this harder. Jacob and I will be of more help to you here. We'll – we'll work with the No-Maj's; build a safer community. Sooner or later MACUSA will have to admit they were wrong. They'll have to welcome you back."

"Did _he_ tell you this?" Tina accused, glaring at Theseus.

"I _offered_ a solution," Theseus denounced. "The choice is yours."

"Tina." Queenie pattered forward and took her sister's hands. "We can't make Newt hide forever. This is the best for him. For all of us. We'll force the Ministry to reconsider."

"Does this mean we're staying in London?" Jacob said uneasily, beginning to flip through the papers.

"Only if you think it's best," Queenie rushed to add.

Flapping the portfolio against his hand, Jacob considered. His gaze diverted to the bowed, mousey wizard, then to Queenie. He glanced sidelong at Credence, back to Queenie, and then he nodded.

"Yeah, I guess she's right. We're all wanted criminals, anyways. If two of us can clear the path for the rest… well, maybe that's where we're needed most." His confidence soothed even Theseus' restless strides. "This isn't forever, Tina."

Closing her eyes, Tina exhaled slowly and murmured, "I know."

"It's settled then," Theseus declared. "We cannot delay any longer. The Ministry has eyes everywhere, and Azkaban will be missing its prisoner."

Newt's head snapped up at the word, and Credence wished he was still dangerous.

"Tina, we'll see you as far as the boat," Queenie assured. She grabbed the suitcase and handed it to Jacob, looping "Ruby's" purse over Tina's wrist. "Just in case you need anything…"

Her smile broke. Gritting her teeth, she gripped her sister fiercely. Credence looked away. He'd heard every note of sorrow in Modesty's voice when her brother turned into her nightmare.

The foreignness of two siblings parting in love was cruelly acknowledged.

Theseus swept up the papers and swept past him, clapping a hand around Newt's shoulder. The younger didn't respond. Tina and Queenie's arms were linked as the one took Credence, the other Jacob.

Dust-laden walls vanished around them, and Credence wondered idly if this would be the last time he flew.

He remembered how his magic, however destructive, had once been beautiful.

* * *

"Newt'll love Australia," Jacob said with false cheer. "I've heard stories. People say it's full of untamable beasts."

"The stories are not untrue," Theseus muttered.

The docks were cold and flecked with sea spray. Credence leaned over the lapping, grey oblivion and breathed deeply. He could almost see himself in the water, fathomless and powerful, concealing his magic from everyone he feared most.

But that was before, and now the ocean was infinitely more powerful than he would ever become.

"Do they have to take the long route?" Jacob wondered. "Can't we use another portkey?"

Theseus rolled his eyes. "Do you realize how difficult those are to obtain? No." He shook his head. "Any form of magic can be traced back to its wielder. A simpleton could track them down." He snatched up Newt's suitcase, cautiously approaching the scrawny figure leaning against a pole.

"Newt." When no answer camecame , Theseus set the suitcase by his brother's feet. He gently gripped the younger's arm. "Look after yourself."

His eyes searched Tina's, and the young witch nodded. "We'll be fine," she whispered.

"I can't give him his wand," Theseus said as he rejoined her. "I've taken too many chances. If he's arrested again, he won't stand trial."

"I understand." Tina's voice cracked as she slowly withdrew her own and laid it in Theseus' hand. "Keep it with his, until this is over." She cut off his objection. "It's my exile, too, Theseus. I promised him that he wouldn't be alone."

Theseus opened his mouth, hesitated, and then clasped her hand. "You may be the only kindness he's ever seen, Porpentina. I could not trust anyone else with my brother."

She flushed at the praise.

Glancing at Credence, Theseus beckoned him forward. Scuffed black shoes grated on the docks. Head ducked, awaiting a rebuke, Credence halted just shy of a slap's reach. He waited for the strike.

"You're the only one who will take care of him," Theseus said to Tina. "Heaven knows, Newt deserves you."

A horn blared, thrumming and curdling as a subway train pulsing underground. Credence clapped his hands over his ears.

"You must leave now," Theseus said, urgency replacing his somber admiration. He pulled Newt away from the dock's edge, shoving the suitcase into his hand.

"Come on, Tina," Queenie said, leading her to the platform. She paused at the ramp and flung her arms around her sister. "I can't send owls. You'll write to me the No-Maj way, won't you? Credence can show you how. Jacob's already gotten me my own set of stationary. We'll keep in touch."

"Every day!" Tina gushed, clinging tightly.

Regret leaded Credence's footsteps, and he was the only one who lingered far enough behind to witness the sudden jagged, terrified plea as Theseus clutched Newt in a fierce embrace.

"Don't force me to watch your execution," the elder whispered.

He let go just as quickly, pushing Newt onto the ramp. Tina took the mousey wizard's arm, and for an instant clarity to returned as Newt searched for his brother.

Nostalgia. Longing. A scared younger sibling asking if he would ever see the other again.

Deliberately Theseus braced his shoulders and walked away.

Hazel eyes shuttered into blankness.

"Hurry, Credence," Queenie insisted, brushing him forward. He followed woodenly. It was over so quickly. Happiness had knit these people together, and now everything was broken glass.

"Oh no…." Sincerity eased Queenie's voice as she stroked his cheek. "Credence, Newt did it for you. We all wanted to help you." She looked down with a bittersweet smile. "We Goldsteins stick together, you know. Every one of us." She touched his face again, warm and accepting and understanding, though he had never spoken a word. "It's okay, 's what family is for."

"I hate to break up the party, but he's gotta go," Jacob said gently. He plucked off his hat and nestled it on Credence's head. "It's not over, Kid."

Not over.

Perplexed, Credence turned the words over in his mind as his hand closed over the ship's railing. As the dock grew smaller. As Tina waved and brushed away tears until she could only peer into the distance in hopes that maybe she would see something over the next wave. As grey waters streamed into deep blue touched by the sun.

Not over.

What did he mean?

 _The war with the ministry….? The wizards hunting us….? The last time we'll see them….? My magic….?_

A soft-spoken, sensible part in his mind told him that something profound had been said, but Credence couldn't make it out. Everything was jumbled in his head these days.

So he did what he knew best. He sat on the bow, knees drawn in, head bowed, and rocked. Gently to and fro, timing it with the ship's waves. It felt peaceful, and somehow sad. Like he was back to the beginning again.

All thoughts, peaceful or otherwise, were rudely discorded as Newt startled back into himself and lunged, spewing bile over the ship's railing. Credence jumped and Tina said something that made a posh lady clap her hand over her breast.

"Newt! Oh, on top of everything…." She rubbed the wizard's back, wincing every time Newt dry-heaved. There wasn't much to lose, but his face was ashen and strained.

"Downstairs," Tina ordered, slipping the suitcase from his lax fingers. She looked back insistently. "Credence, help me."

Dazed, Credence did as he was told. He followed her down the steps, feeling oddly like he had done this _exactly so_ before.

Back when it was a serpent and a mouse.

Back when he was only the victim, and not the monster.

 _"Can I come over there?"_

Credence felt like he was the one asking this time, but Newt would never accept. Who could soothe the comforter? Surely not the one who had betrayed him?

He should have stayed behind, locked in MACUSA's cell. Tina was the only one worthy of Newt, just like Theseus said.

The cabin Tina led them to was cramped and dim. The floor lurched as much as it did above, and Newt was soon wracked again, coughing between heaves. Tina groaned.

"You had to give him your wand," she berated herself."

Carefully Credence set the suitcase on the bed.

"We need to get him inside without losing the creatures," Tina said. "Can you manage that?"

Panicked, Credence froze. They couldn't trust him in there. Not yet. He hadn't proved himself. He hadn't followed the rules. He was dangerous.

"Credence?" Tina pleaded as Newt convulsed into shivers.

Rapidly he flipped the bolts.

"Come on, Newt." Tina hushed, leading him to the suitcase. "You'll feel better inside. It's okay. No one's going to hurt your creatures. Credence is here. No one's been Obliviated."

She kept up the litany of unrelated reassurances, guiding Newt so that he wouldn't miss a rung on the ladder, keeping him in sight until he was securely entrenched in his own world. She didn't follow straight away, but beckoned for Credence to enter next. He faltered.

Tina sighed. "I don't have time to argue. Please, Credence. Don't make me beg."

The thought lashed more cruelly than a belt across his palm. Nodding jerkily, Credence lowered himself inside. He heard the suitcase close as Tina entered behind him.

Newt hovered in the entrance, face turned to the sun, eyelids flickering as though caught up in a turbulent dream. Credence wondered what his nightmare was – the memory of Azkaban, or fear that he would wake up and discover that his freedom was the illusion.

Tina tiptoed closer and brushed his shoulder. "Newt?"

When there was no response, she drew him onto the grass and sat him down. "They're all here, Newt. Your creatures. They're safe."

Edgily Credence sat a short distance away. Glazed, hazel eyes roved unseeingly over the flourishing plains and the beasts which romped closer as they recognized a familiar face. Sighing, Newt closed his eyes. His head dropped and rose, fell again, until Tina pulled his shoulders into her lap, settling his right hand into the spongy grass.

"It's all here, Newt," she murmured, combing long tangles out of his face. "You're home."

The only sign that he might have heard was the stilling of his eyelids as he fell asleep. Sobbing quietly, Tina bent over the threadbare coat and gripped his other hand. "What are we doing here, Newt? What have I done?"

Credence knew he had overstayed.

He slipped away unnoticed, as lowly and unwanted as the beetles and their dung. He strayed further, hiding himself away, until he settled close to the cabin, beneath the picture of a dark-haired woman. She looked nothing like Tina, with Chastity's insensitive eyes and secretive grin, but in that, perhaps, she and Credence were not so unalike. They were both unworthy.

He wrapped himself in such gloomy thoughts until nightfall.

His dreams were full of black flames and Newt's empty, lifeless eyes.

* * *

The dawn was still laced with stars when Credence snapped away, sensing a presence. He gasped. Why was still in bed at this hour? Mother would be displeased for his slothfulness, and Chastity would simper as….

But they were both dead.

Rolling over, Credence braced himself. An upraised hand, a kind word, a coarse holler, a whisper of hope… he didn't know what to expect anymore.

So he flinched expectantly, waiting for good or evil to catch him in the dark.

The onlooker startled just as violently. A coat collar fluttered in the wind.

Credence winced and then curled upright, tucking his arms around his legs. Hoping there would be a censure; someone else rebuking his acrimonious heart.

He was so tired of kind lies.

Newt swayed in the early cobalt light, left knee quaking. Unsteady, inept. Looking for Credence.

Credence's mouth went dry. He felt wretched; afraid; shaking without need. Would the wizard ask for a belt? Would he finally resort to punishment, now that Credence had done the unforgiveable?

"I'm sorry," Credence garbled. Tried to make it sound genuine, but he could only weep. "I didn't mean to."

He braced himself, holding out his hands. He could count the scars; every failure etched in a white line.

He hoped this one would cut deeper than all the rest.

Shuddering a sigh, Newt crouched beside him. Credence focused on his hands, just like Mother had taught him. Ready to count each strike.

Wriggling, warm fur puddled into his palms. Credence gasped, instinctively grabbing before the creature could fall out of his hands. Fear-stricken eyes looked to Newt.

 _What do you expect me to do?_

Newt's eyes crinkled. "Don't let 'im run off," he rasped.

The niffler scrambled, already rebelling against its caretaker, and Credence clutched it to his chest. He stared, disbelieving, searching hazel eyes for the lie.

The faintest, hardiest smile tugged at the corner of Newt's mouth. He heaved himself to his feet, dispirited, wounded, yet somehow reassuring in the same inconspicuous, unassuming manner of the courageous mouse.

And Credence could find none.

Instead there was a sense of empathy that he had never seen before. Protectiveness for a creature who had the same bad habits as a niffler addicted to coins. In such a light, Credence saw the bequest he had always begged for, and never earned.

Forgiveness.

He bowed his head, and heard cloth rustle before a tender hand mussed his hair.

"You'll always be welcome here," Newt whispered.

Then Credence finally knew for certain.

He had nothing to offer. No Obscurus. No magic. He had cost Newt everything. And yet somehow – in some stupid, senseless form of affirmation – Newt had reached out and taken him under his wing.

Perhaps he, too, was a lost creature. Perhaps that had been Newt's objective all along.

Trust quelled Mother's voice in his mind, along with his doubts.

 _"This isn't over, Kid,"_ Jacob had said.

Finally he understood. Whatever his lot, he wasn't wholly condemned. His choices remained.

And Credence knew that, even though he had jeopardized Newt's future and his own, this was a gift that would not be taken away.

He didn't need a family to soothe his tears and teach him magic. He didn't need to have control.

He already belonged.

* * *

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* * *

 _End_

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.

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* * *

 **Whew! That is over! Done! Concluded! Not to be continued! Consider it "complete."**

 **Soooo, what happens to the wizarding world? Does the Magical Realm come to terms with the No-Maj's? Can muggles accept wizards and their magic and live in semi-harmony? Will Newt, Tina, and Credence finally be welcome in their home countr(ies)?**

 **I'm not going to give you an answer on this one.  
**

 **Dun dun dun.**

 **The truth is, this story was originally going to have a fluffy ending - something along the lines of Newt and Credence staying at Hogwarts, Queenie and Jacob co-owning a bakery/tailor shop,** **and Tina advocating Wizards and Muggles United or something like that. Reality busted my plot, because life just doesn't work out that way, despite all the peace/love/harmony expressions that spread good feelings and prettily wrapped lies. Point is, choices in life have consequences. But there is always another chance. Always.**

 **The final conclusion of this story is your playground, depending on how you think events could play out. Can wizards and muggles unite peacefully, without concerns over the fairness of special abilities vs. ordinary folk? If you have any thoughts, let me know in the comments. I'm always interested in hearing different perspectives.**

 **(And yes, you can still feed this story to an Obscurus. It has mangling-worthy material, methinks.)**


End file.
